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m 

WILD  OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD,  ft*- 

OR, 


ON  AND  OFF  SOUNDINGS; 


BY  A  GENTLEMAN  OF  LEISURE. 


|)l)Uairelpl)ia: 

T.  B.  PETERSON,  No.  102  OHESNUT  STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1853,  by 

T.  B.  PETERSON, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States, 
in  and  for  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


CONTENTS 


EUMONQ  TITLE,  PAGE 

Opening  the  Journal,    ...  7 

Adventure  in  Search  of  Ruin !  9 

Parting  Tribute  to  Love,  .    .  11 

Three  Desperate  Days !     .    .  13 

The  Poetry  of  Sea  Sickness,  .  15 

The  Red  Flannel  Night  Cap,  .  17 

A  Ship  by  Moonlight,  ...  19 

Arrival  in  London,  ....  21 

The  Parks  of  London,  ...  23 
Poet's  Corner — Westminster 

Abbey   25 

England's  Monuments,  .  .  27 
Madame     Taussaud'a  Wax 

Works,   29 

The  "Beauties"'  of  Hampton 

Court,   31 

Love  and  Pliilosophy,  ...  33 

"  Love's  Labor  Lost,"  ...  35 

A  Peep  at  "  The  Shades,"     .  37 

The  Modern     Aspasia,"  .    .  39 

Noble  Plea  for  Matrimony,    .  41 

The  Lily  on  the  Shore  !  .  .  43 
English  Mother  and  American 

Daughter,   45 

The  *'Maid  of  Normandie,"  .  47 

An  Affecting  scene,  ....  49 

"  Paris  est  un  Artist,"      .    .  51 

The  Guillotine,   53 

Give  us  Another  !"    ...  55 

Post  Mortem  Reflections,  .    .  57 

Fashionable  Criticism,  ...  59 

Whiskey  Punch  and  Logic  !   .  61 

Shylock  asks  for  Justice  !"  .  63 

"Lorette"  and  "  Grisette,"   .  65 

Kissing  Day,   67 

The  Tattoo,   69 

The  Masked  Ball,    ....  71 

The  Incognita,   73 

The  Charms  of  Paris,  ...  75 


RUNMNG  TITLE,  PAGE 

Changing  Horses,    ....  77 

Abelard  and  Heloise,    ...  79 

A  View  in  Lyons,    ....  81 

Avignon — Petrarch  and  Laura,  83 

Our  First  Ruin,   85 

The  Unconscious  Blessing,    .  87 

A  Crash  and  a  Wreck !  .    .    .  89 

The  Rail  Road  of  Life, ...  91 

A  Night  Adventure,     ...  93 

"  The  Gods  take  care  of  Cato,"  95 

The  Triumphs  of  Neptune,    .  97 

The  Marquisi's  Foot,    ...  99 

Beauties  of  Naples'  Bay,  .  .  101 
Natural  History  of  the  Lazza- 

roni   103 

The  True  Venus !    ....  105 

Love  and  Devotion,  ....  107 

The  Morality  of  Pompeii,  .    .  109 

Procession  of  the  Host,     .    .  Ill 

The  Ascent  of  Vesuvius,   .    .  113 

The  Mountain  Emetic,  .    .    .  115 

The  Human  Projectile,     .    .  117 

The  City  of  the  Soul!  ...  119 

The  Coup  de  Main,  .        .    .  121 

Night  in  the  Coliseum  !     .    .  123 

Catholicity  Considered,     .    .  125 

Power  Passing  away !  .    .    .  127 

Byron  among  the  Ruins  !  .    .  129 

A  Gossip  with  the  Artists,     .  131 

Speaking  Gems  !   133 

"  Weep  for  Adonis !"    .    .    .  135 

The  Lady  and  the  God,     .    .  137 

The  Science  of  Palmistry  !     .  139 

"  Sour  Grapes!"   141 

A  Ramble  about  Tivoli,    .    .  143 

Illumination  of  St.  Peter's,    .  145 

The  "Niobe  of  Nations,"  .    .  147 

A  Ghostly  Scene  !    ....  149 

"  Iloiii  Roit  qui  mal  y  pense,"  151 

(3) 


4 


CONTENTS. 


RUNMXa  TITLE, 

A  "Ball"  without  music,  . 
Scenes  on  the  Road,     .  . 
The  "  Tug  of  War!"     .  . 
"  There  they  are,  by  Jove  !"  . 
The  Raven-Haired  one  !  . 
Heaven  and  Hell !  ... 
The  "Hamlet"  of  Sculpture, 
The  Modem  Susannah, 
Hey,  Presto  !  Charge !  .  . 
The  Death  Scene  of  Cleopatra 
A  Eulogy  on  Tuscany,  .  . 
A  Real  Claude  Sunset, .  . 
Tasso  and  Byron,    .    .  . 
The  Shocking  Team  !    .  . 
Floatings  in  Venice,     .  . 
The  Venetian  Girls,     .  . 
The  Bell-crowned  Hat !  . 
The  "Lion's  Mouth!"  .  . 
The  "Bridge  of  Sighs!"  . 


158 
155 
157 
159 
161 
163 
165 
167 
169 
171 
173 
175 
177 
179 
181 
188 
185 
187 
189 


ETJNinNG  TITLE,  PAGE 

A  Subterranean  Fete!  .    .    .  191 

Byron  and  Moore  in  Venice,  •  193 

Diana  and  Endymion,  .    .    .  195 

The  Pinch  of  Snuff,  .    ...  197 

The  Rock-Cry stal  Coffin  !  .    .  199 

Eccentricity  of  Art,      ...  201 

Thoughts  in  a  Monastery,     .  203 

The  Lake  of  Como,  ....  205 

The  Immortal  Drummer  Boy,  207 

Wit,  and  its  Reward!   ...  209 

The  Cold  Bath  !   211 

"Here  we  are!"     ....  213 

The  Mountain  Expose  .    .    .  215 

The  "  Last  Rose  of  Summer,"  217 

AVaking  the  Echoes,     .    .    .  219 

W^atching  the  Avalanche  !  .    .  221 

A  Beautiful  Incident,  ...  223 

A  Shot  with  the  Long  Bow,   .  225 

Mt.  Blanc  and  a  Full  Stop,    .  227 


PREFACE. 


My  grandmother  once  said,  after  the  rather 
dexterous  removal  of  a  lump  of  sugar,  by 
means  of  a  string,  from  the  sugar  bowl,  "That 
Boy  is  a  genius  !" 

I  did  not  much  notice  the  remark  at  the 
time,  for  I  was  too  intent  upon  the  sugar — but 
some  years  after*  the  Principal  of  a  somewhat 
famous  Boarding  school  quietly  observed  of  the 
same  Boy,  "  There's  something  in  that  fellow !" 
whereupon  I  attempted  to  get  it  out  in  the 
shape  of  a  Pasquinade  on  the  said  Principal's 
florid  Physiognomy — which  attempt  forthwith 
resulted  in  a  flogging.  From  that  time  I  left 
whatever  was  in  me  stay  there  until  I  was 
forced  to  write  these  leaves  from  a  necessity 
of  my  nature,  and  I  am  downright  certain 
they  deserve  just  as  severe  a  flogging  as  the 
aforesaid  Pasquinade  called  forth.  I  could  avoid 
this  by  retaining  them — but  what  has  an  indo- 
lent man  to  do  when  a  pair  of  cylindrical  rollers, 

1*  f5) 


6 


PREFACE. 


armed  with  their  type,  have  once  caught  hold 
of  the  margin  of  his  paper?  he  must  let  go — 
or  be  dragged  out  of  his  chair — so  I  let  it  go 

and  (theatrically  speaking)  be  . 

The  "Gentleman  of  Leisure." 

Philadelfhia,  May  1853. 


WILD  OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD; 

OR, 

ON  AND  OFF  SOUNDINGS. 

COMPKISING  LEAVES  FEOM  THE  PRIVATE  JOUR- 
NAL OF  A  GENTLEMAN  OF  LEISURE. 


LEAF  I. 

OPENING  THE  JOURNAL. 

Ship  Susquehanna,  18 — . 
If  any  kind  friend  just  now  standing  at  our  elbow  were 
to  inquire  for  what  purpose  we  had  prepared  this  pen  and 
paper,  and  were  to  hint  at  the  folly  of  attempting  a 
movement  in  the  journalizing  line,  we  should  reply  by 
asking  him  why  an  owl  shrieks  or  a  jackass  brays.  They 
must  be  aware  of  the  shocking  sound  they  both  produce, 
and  yet  they  delight  in  its  repetition.  Man,  though  more 
rational,  is  not  less  vain  of  his  production,  and  so  long  as 
it  tickles  his  ear,  will  indulge  in  the  luxury,  and  will  never 
cease  to  wonder  why  others  are  not  equally  delighted. 
Besides,  there  is  no  harm  in  pointing  one's  ears  and 
having  a  quiet  bray  to  oneself  in  one's  own  stable — only 
keep  away  from  the  public  common.  To  have  a  journal  is 
hardly  considered  criminal,  but  to  allow  the  monstrosity  to 

(T) 


8 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


propagate  in  print  should  be  regarded  as  a  Penitentiary 
ojBfence — particularly  one's  European  twaddle — for,  from 
the  birth  of  Caesar's  Commentaries  down  to  the  weakly 
pregnancy  of  Willis,  there  has  probably  been  more  literary 
abortions  of  the  travelling  order  than  any  Lying-in-Hospital 
could  ever  boast — a  large  Museum  could  be  stocked  with 
them — some  attenuated  to  a  thread — some  dropsical  and 
others  bloated — some  without  heads — but  the  most  part 
with  the  imaginative  organs  exploded — too  much  steam 
in  that  section  —  indeed,  it  is  melancholy  to  see  the 
numerous  victims  to  this  publishing  mania.  Now,  when 
a  man  has  once  ascertained  that  history  has  no  occasion  for 
his  services,  and  that  his  star  is  among  the  "  undistinguished 
many,"  he  may  be  excused  the  little  vanity  that  dictates 
the  private  records  of  his  own  transcendant  egotism. 
Upon  his  own  paper  he  may  be  allowed  to  transcribe  the 
different  phases  of  his  individual  existence,  and  with  the 
gratified  pride  of  a  "  Solitaire,"  see  self  reflected  from 
every  angle  of  vision.  This  is  true  greatness.  The 
Patriot  in  Fame's  Annals  stands  side  by  side  with  Fame's 
Bastards,  and  that  man  must  be  well  versed  in  Heraldry 
who  can  detect  the  "Bar  sinister"  in  the  Escutcheon; — 
the  day  has  gone  by  when  a  nation  dies  because  it  has  no 
poet — each  man  now,  like  the  Bunker  Hill  monument,  as 
the  "God-like  Daniel"  remarked,  has  become  his  own 
orator,  and  he  must  be  the  veriest  blockhead  who  would 
rush  to  fire  another  Ephesian  dome  when  the  essence  of 
Fame  bubbles  up  from  his  own  inkstand.  No.  Perish 
such  a  thought !  The  man  of  Genius  seeks  neither  to 
build  nor  to  destroy — the  tops  of  monuments  are  to  him  as 
the  level  plain,  and  when  the  "  guadia  popularis"  or  the 
"itch  scribendi"  threatens  him,  he  quietly  retires  to  his 
own  study  and  builds  himself  up  in  the  pages  of  his 
diurnal  weakness — his  Journal — sweet  food  of  selfishness ! 


"ADVENTURE  IN  SEARCH  OF  RUIN." 


9 


pure  manna  of  desert  Egotism !  Let  your  warriors  and 
your  statesmen  take  their  airing  from  the  tops  of  marble 
monuments  and  in  dignified  silence  greet  the  rising  sun — 
they  were  born  for  such  a  purpose — while  we  were  pre- 
destined to  the  quiet  enjoyment'  of  a  Louis  Quatorze,  and 
the  sweet  oblivion  of  a  "siesta."  If  there  was  any  defect 
in  the  original  fragments  which  constitute  our  humanity, 
it  consists  in  a  small  superabundance  of  the  propensity 
called  "touring;" — we  have  a  perfect  passion  for  ruins, 
and  we  recollect  when  a  mere  boy,  being  struck  with  the 
picturesque  beauty  of  an  old  stable.  Whether  this  innate 
desire  was  not  the  effect  of  some  predisposing  cause,  has 
always  been  a  difficult  question  with  us,  and  we  have  since 
partly  concluded  that  a  man  must  be  born  in  a  hovel  to 
fully  appreciate  the  "rents  of  time,"  the  stern  "magnifi- 
cence of  fell  decay."  Were  we  in  want  of  a  title  to  our 
Journal,  we  might  most  truthfully  call  it  "  an  adventure  in 
search  of  Ruin" — it  would  be  a  singular  intention.  Most 
men  seek  the  picturesque  from  mere  motives  of  idlesse,  or 
to  avoid  pressing  debts — some  few  go  in  the  Timon  mood 
of  misanthropy  to  see  an  emblem  of  themselves  in  some 
leaning  tower  or  some  hollow  cavern,  and  others  from  a 
sensuality  of  eye  which  requires  constant  feeding.  Now 
we  go  because  we  cannot  help  it.  Ruins  are  our  evil 
genius — our  destiny.  They  haunt  us  like  the  "  white 
horse"  of  the  Buccaneer — afar  off  we  see  the  evidence  of 
their  presence,  and  their  irresistible  spirit  beckons  us ; — 
this  appetite  seems  insatiable,  and  nothing  will  content 
our  soul  until,  Marius-like,  we  shall  be  seated  upon  the 
ruins  of  a  world.  Be  it  so — we  go  forth  a  victim  to  ivy — 
the  martyr  of  deserted  Abbeys.  All  hail !  ye  crumbling 
remnants  !  But  stop — let  me  go  on  deck  and  see  my 
country  fade  into  the  blue  of  heaven — let  us  say  "  good 
night"  while  yet  the  setting  sun  still  gives  a  dim  reflection 


10 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


of  her  lulls.  In  that  blue  strip  which  hangs  like  a  cloud 
upon  the  horizon  sleep  all  my  memories — in  its  embrace 
lie  triumphs  and  defeats — from  this  far-off  point  I  see  the 
specula — the  phantom  of  my  past  life — I  see  an  image 
struggling  with  a  tie  it  cannot  break — I  see  it  pleading — 
embracing — blessed — soft  eyes  are  glowing  with  fondness 
and  the  pressure  of  a  wanton  lip  speaks  a  fearful  purpose. 
Never — oh  never — did  the  mirror  of  seer  or  alchymist  in 
all  its  height  of  fable  reflect  so  bright  a  vision  ! — but  lo  ! 
another  phantom — all  is  faded — gone — was  it  Fancy  or 
was  it  Fact  ? 

On^the  foam  of  the  billow, 

^Mid  the  roar  of  the  deep — 
On  the  calm  of  my  pillow, 

When  the  Tempest's  asleep — 
At  the  blush  of  the  morning. 

When  far  o'er  the  sea, 
The  gold  of  its  dawning 

Comes  flashing  and  free — 
At  the  darkling  of  daylight, 

When  slow  sinks  the  sun, 
With  the  pride  of  a  monarch 

Whose  conquest  is  won — 
In  the  hour  of  my  sorrow. 

In  the  moments  of  bliss, 
I  will  think  of  thy  voice,  love, 

ril  think  of  thy  kiss. 

On  the  banks  of  the  Douro, 

'Mid  the  groves  of  old  Spain, 
When  the  wanton  Bolero 

Wakes  passion  again — 
In  the  halls  of  Alhambra, 

Where  marbled  appears 
The  splendor  of  kingdoms. 

The  ruin  of  years — 


PARTING  TRIBUTE  TO  LOVE. 


11 


By  the  side  of  the  fountain, 

In  the  noise  of  its  mirth, 
'Mid  the  depths  of  the  mountain, 

Where  the  Bandit  has  birth — 
In  the  hour  of  silence, 

'Mid  vesper  and  prayer, 
I  will  think  of  our  vows,  love, 

I'll  wish  thou  wert  there. 

In  the  beauty  of  Florence, 

Where  Art  has  her  home — 
'Mid  the  grandeur  of  Venice, 

The  ashes  of  Rome — 
In  the  wrecks  of  past  glory, 

Whose  skeletons  seem. 
In  the  vagueness  of  story, 

The  things  of  a  dream — 
In  the  Carnivars  madness, 

When  riot  runs  free. 
And  revel  wins  sadness, 

To  share  in  its  glee — 
In  the  midst  of  their  rapture, 

In  visions  like  this, 
I  will  think  of  thy  voice,  love, 

I'll  think  of  thy  kiss. 

In  the  hush  of  the  midnight, 

When  weary  and  lone. 
The  shadows  shall  haunt  me 

Of  days  that  are  gone — 
And  remembrance  shall  tell  me 

IIow  like  in  my  pride, 
To  the  half-buried  column 

That  sleeps  by  my  side ; 
No  Temple  to  claim  it. 

No  worship  to  share — 
Alone  in  its  ruin. 

Alone  in  despair. 
Oh !  then  in  my  anguish, 

How  soothing  the  bliss ! 
To  think  of  thy  voice,  love, 

To  think  of  th  v  kiss  ! 


12 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


Next  to  the  gratification  of  a  long-cherished  revenge, 
and  we  will  confess  it  is  a  glorious  feeling,  we  know  of 
no  luxury  equal  to  that  of  winning  the  love  of  a  proud 
woman  against  her  will — against  her  better  judgment — 
against  her  sense  of  duty.  It  is  your  phantom  ships  alone 
that  sail  against  wind  and  tide — but  speaking  of  ships,  ^ 
there  is  quite  an  increase  of  motion  in  our  own,  and  I  feel 
a  decidedly  unpleasant  sensation  about  the  intellectual 
portion  of  my  head.  "  It  must  be  so."  Neptune,  thy 
decrees  are  irrevocable — we  feel  thy  tribute  must  be  ho- 
nored, and  with  the  decency  of  Caesar,  we  retire. 

Three  desperate  days  !  Gods !  what  a  retrospect !  It 
seems  like  an  eternity  of  spasmodic  suflfering — talk  of 
amputation  !  mental  anxiety — chronic  disease — why  what 
is  the  whole  catalogue  of  human  ills  compared  to  this  attic 
salt ! — this  bilious  dissolution — this  sea-emetic  ?  For  three 
days  we  lay  upon  our  back  gazing  at  vacuity  with  a  sort 
of  defiant  air,  something  like  the  look  a  negro  would 
throw  out  in  giving  Hamlet's  soliloquy.  Did  we  dare  to 
cast  a  side  glance  into  the  cabin,  every  thing  there  had  a 
saltatory  motion  which  was  very  affecting.  Did  the 
slightest  vapor  of  a  culinary  preparation  waft  itself  towards 
us,  immediately  the  peristaltic  motion  became  excessive, 
and  we  were  forced  to  surrender !  Did  we  attempt  the 
delicate  operation  of  swallowing  a  morsel  and  effect  an 
insurance  by  the  aid  of  brandy,  we  soon,  by  a  species  of 

second  sight"  saw  the  identical  tit-bit  re-appear  with 
trimmings.  Did  we  venture  upon  a  resurrection,  and  in 
the  fulness  of  despair  succeed  in  obtaining  a  vertical  posi- 
tion, our  fancied  stroll  into  the  cabin  became  a  matter  of 
doubtful  propriety — we  found  it  very  necessary  before 
relinquishing  our  hold  upon  one  point  to  discover  what 
Archimides  Avanted,  in  order  to  balance  ourselves  properly 


THREE  DESPERATE  DATS  ! 


13 


upon  another — then  came  a  series  of  Polka  steps  with  the 
trunks,  chairs,  &c.,  until  we  finally  landed  upon  the  very- 
spot  we  were  seeking  to  avoid.  It  was  one  eternal  motion 
— the  sweet  sense  of  rest  seemed  banished — our  elbows 
were  lacerated,  our  muscles  weary  with  continued  tension. 
The  single  benefit  we  derived  from  all  this  misery  was  a 
skill  in  dodging  which  would  mn  laurels  on  a  field  of  bat- 
tle. Once,  and  once  only,  during  these  memorable  three 
days,"  w^e  succeeded  in  reaching  the  deck — we  smiled  in 
perfect  desperation  at  the  prospect — the  last  pufis  of  a 
northern  gale,  the  author  of  all  our  misery,  were  sweep- 
ing an  ocean  of  foam — every  sail  was  close-reefed,  and  the 
ice  glittered  on  every  rope — some  apparently  galvanised 
beings  were  careening  in  a  leaning  attitude  along  the  deck 
— one  yellow-haired  individual  with  pan  in  hand  had  just 
deposited  "  dinner  for  two"  in  the  lee  scuppers,  and  was 
gathering  himself  up  with  the  aid  of  a  rope — he  cast  a 
lingering  look  upon  the  spoiled  banquet,  but  found  no 
answering  consolation  in  the  pale  aspect  of  the  potatoes, 
or  the  calm  solidity  of  the  unhappy  beef — there  it  lay, 
sublimely  passive  to  every  action  of  the  intruding  sea — 
and  the  only  sign  of  interest  which  it  called  forth  was  a 
wicked  kick  from  the  cook,  and  such  a  laugh  from  the 
sailors  !  Although  a  gentlemanly  promenade  was  out  of 
the  question,  we  essayed  a  step  or  tw^o  towards  the  com- 
panion way — it  was  a  falsetto  movement — still  we  perse- 
vered, and  in  one  moment  more  would  have  been  safely 
under  cover,  but  alas !  the  ship  just  then  gave  a  tremen- 
dous lurch  and  the  surplus  liquid  drenched  us  to  the  skin. 
It  was  delicious — with  the  philosophy  of  a  martyr  and  the 
patience  of  a  Christian,  we  descended  to  our  berth  and 
soliloquized  upon  the  Poetry  of  Ocean."  This  was  then 
the  beautiful  element  in  which  the  "  Almighty's  form 
glasses  itself  in  Tempest."    We  turned  on  our  side  and 

2 


14 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


went  to  sleep — anon  a  shout — a  tramp — a  crash ;  as  if 
the  day  of  doom  impended.  We  looked  toward  the  stair- 
way— it  was  already  midnight,  and  the  cabin  lamp  burned 
dimly — a  figure  in  rather  primitive  apparel  rushed  from 
the  opposite  berth — "  Heavens  !  what  is  the  matter  !" 
said  the  trembling  apparition.  It  did  not  wait  for  a 
reply — but  seizing  one  boot  and  a  pair  of  drawers, 
dashed  up  the  stairway.  Oh  !  what  singular  locomotion 
it  presented !  Such  legs !  and  such  a  short  shirt !  and 
then  the  solitary  boot  !  It  looked  like  a  disturbed  Fla- 
mingo taking  wing.  "\Ye  laughed  until  the  tears  started  to 
our  eyes. 

Next  morning  we  discovered  that  the  spanker  boom 
had  unshipped,  and  carried  away  half  the  round  house. 
Our  friend  with  the  short  shirt  had  been  too  much  alarmed 
to  give  an  intelligible  account  of  the  difficulty.  He 
probably  imagined  that  he  should  be  called  upon  to 
swim,  and  had  provided  himself  with  one  boot  for  bal- 
last— what  else  he  intended  to  do  with  it  we  cannot 
conceive. 


Neptune  is  not  yet  perfectly  satisfied — he  made  another 
attack  upon  us  this  morning,  and  we  had  a  slight  difficulty 
in  getting  safely  through  breakfast.  It  is  now  dinner 
time,  and  we  feel  no  inclination  to  renew  the  labour^ 
What  a  perfect  mockery  is  the  sound  of  that  dinner  bell ! 
yet  what  delight  the  steward  takes  in  ringing  it — there  is 
a  quiet  smile  about  the  corner  of  his  mouth  (or  rather 
about  the  extremity  of  an  immense  gash,  for  the  Ethiopian 
has  a  tremendous  pair  of  lips)  whenever  called  upon  to 
perform  this  tintinabulary  duty — the  villain  is  aware  of 
our  inability  to  consume  the  nauseating  viands,  and  amuses 
himself  at  the  excessive  delicacy  of  our  appetite :  there  is 
an  ironical  excess  of  courtesy  in  his  invitation  to  feed, 


THE  POETET  OF  SEA  SICKNESS. 


15 


and  a  sort  of  ^'come  if  you  dare" — "come  if  you  can" 
sound  to  his  bell,  which  would  provoke  any  thing  but  a 
sea-sick  man — there  is  certainly  no  self-abandonment  to 
be  compared  to  the  absolute  recklessness  of  the  victim  to 
salt  water — he  lays  down  upon  any  spot — ^in  any  condition 
— perfectly  indifferent  whether  the  vessel  sinks  or  swims — 
his  whole  existence — his  whole  soul — eyery  hope  and  fear 
is  just  then  centred  in  his  liver,  and  his  only  desire  is  to 
turn  himself  inside  out  as  you  would  a  turkey's  gizzard. 

There  is  V  at  this  moment  in  a  horrid  state — coiled 

up  like  a  torpid  constrictor  in  a  corner  of  the  sternboat,^ 
and  basking  in  the  sun.  One  would  suppose  from  the 
desperate  energy  with  which  he  has  fastened  his  hat  upon 
his  head,  that  he  never  intended  to  take  it  off  again  in 
this  world — well !  he  is  in  the  last  stage  of  temporary 
relaxation — in  the  negative  enjoyment  of  bilious  repose — 
he  is  comparatively  happy — and  fondly  imagines  that  the 
last  link  that  bound  him  to  his  breakfast  is  broken — but 
were  we  barbarian  enough  to  whisper  the  word  '  gravy'  in 
his  ear,  the  evil  spirits  would  gather,  and  you  would  soon 
see  him  steadfastly  looking  down  into  the  deep  sea  like  a 
searcher  after  truth,  or  hanging  over  the  side  of  the  boat 
in  imitation  of  a  dead  eel.  Oh  !  it  is  horrible  !  one  could 
even  have  a  tooth  drawn  without  displaying  any  additional 
symptoms  of  agony.  It  is  the  highest  burlesque  of 
pathos — indeed,  in  the  whole  history  of  "broken  hearts," 
there  is  nothing  so  touching  as  the  languid  "  Go  away 
now"  of  a  sea  sick  damsel — it  is  pathetic — distressing — 
ghastly — and  perhaps  the  only  time  when  one  willingly 
obeys  the  "go  away"  of  a  pretty  mouth.  There  are 
some  feelings  which  require  as  much  skill  to  analyze 
as  the  dissection  of  a  fly — and  it  has  often  puzzled  us 

to  discern  why  Emma  B          ever  married  that  stick 

of  a  husband — the  mystery  was  revealed  when  she  con- 


16 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


fessed  that  they  had  been  sea-sick  together.  Alas  !  for 
human  nature  and  a  rough  sea  !  alas !  for  the  Poetry  of 
Ocean  in  a  gale !  it  is  the  home  of  humiliation — the  grave 
of  ideality — the  season  for  mortality  taking  mortals  cap- 
tive— the  emphatic  "  Pshaw !"  to  novel  writers  and 
heroes. 


LEAF  II. 

Ship  Susquehanna,  18 — . 
Among  the  list  of  passengers  we  number  two  dogs  and 
a  raccoon — there  is  among  the  steerage  passengers  quite 
a  pretty  Welsh  girl  and  an  original  genius  with  yellow 
locks  and  a  bell-shaped  "gossamer,"  large  enough  to  do 
honor  to  the  tower  of  Notre  Dame — also,  a  negro,  but  he 
belongs  to  the  crew,  and  is  pithily  denominated  "  Sails," 
from  being  employed  upon  the  wings  of  our  craft.  He  of 
the  yellow  hair  has  been  baptized  Robert,  and  seems  the 
descendant  of  a  very  devotional  family,  as  all  his  features 
have  an  upward  tendency.  He  is  at  present  occupied  as  a 
sort  of  general  runner  between  the  steerage  cabin  and  the 
water  casks,  with  an  occasional  digression  to  the  cooking 
stove ;  the  latter  employment  has,  however,  been  consigned 
to  safer  hands,  as  Robert's  "upturned  gaze"  has  been  the 
freq-uent  cause  of  mishap  in  the  transportation  of  the 
culinary  matter.  When  not  employed,  he  is  to  be  found 
gazing  pensively  upon  the  heavens,  with  his  left  hand  sunk 
knee-deep  into  his  breeches  pocket,  and  his  lower  jaw 
hanging  like  the  lid  of  a  mouse-trap.  What  glorious 
visions  may  flit  before  him  in  these  dreamy  moods  is 


THE  RED  FLANNEL  NIGHT  CAP  17 


impossible  to  imagine ;  but  they  are  generally  broken  in 
upon  by  a  vicious  spurt  of  the  sea,  which  recalls  Robert 
from  the  bliss  of  nectar  to  the  dreariness  of  "heavy  wet." 
He  immediately  removes  his  "gossamer,"  and  gazes 
piteously  upon  it  with  somewhat  of  the  agony  of  Lear 
when  he  speaks  to  the  storm — and  then  quietly  withdraws 
to  the  shelter  of  the  forward  cabin.  We  of  the  Patrician 
order  number  only  five  with  the  captain.  The  ladies'  cabin 
has  but  one  representative — fat,  old  and  unmanageable — a 
deep-dyed  English  woman — full  of  prejudice  and  fear — she 
gives  an  agonizing  "oh!  ah!"  with  every  pitch  of  the 
vessel,  and  does  nothing  but  wonder  when  we  will  arrive  at 
Liverpool.  We  sometimes  managed  to  hoist  her  upon  deck, 
but  her  presence  is  a  certain' harbinger  of  rain,  so  we  per- 
suaded her  to  remain  below,  and  she  now  drugs  herself  to 
sleep.  The  stewardess  is  very  anxious  that  we  should  see 
the  "  old  lady"  in  her  "  night  cap,"  but  our  curiosity  in  that 
line  is  confined  to  young  girls  with  very  black  hair  and 
long  eye  lashes — they  looked  so  wicked — so  Bohemienne 
in  a  night  cap — we  never  had  our  own  wife  to  try  experi- 
ments on,  but  it  is  our  candid  bachelor  opinion  that  if 
women  who  do  not  put  their  hair  up  in  paper,  will  insist 
upon  going  to  bed  with  a  close-ruffled  night  cap  on,  and 
not  allow  one  single  lock  of  hair  to  escape — but  nonsense 
— what  in  the  world  have  such  things  to  do  with  our 
Journal?  We  never  touch  upon  "night  caps"  without 
being  led  astray — but  really,  when  a  man  has  once  seen  a 
woman  in  a  night  cap,  he  has  seen  the  worst,  and  if  he 
continued  satisfied,  there  is  no  excuse  in  not  proposing. 

Mrs.  N  once  dared  the  hazard  of  as  ugly  a  night  cap 

as  I  could  find.  I  put  a  red  flannel  one  upon  her  head. 
She  tossed  the  nasty  thing  racily  upon  one  side  "  a  la 
Grec" — pulled  the  tassel  over  her  left  eye,  jumped  up, 
kissed  me,  and  looked  too  sweet  for  earth — but  then  she 
B  2* 


18 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


was  a  genius — perhaps  after  all,  it  was  the  kiss  made  the 
divinity  of  the  thing — these  women  have  so  much  tact 
— they  know  exactly  the  "when  and  where"  to  play  the 
amiable. 


We  have  reached  the  Grand  Bank,  and  are  becalmed — 
the  sea  without  a  ripple — the  sky  without  a  cloud — beauti- 
ful to  look  upon,  but  horrible  to  endure.  "VVe  have  tried 
every  thing — but  every  thing  seems  wearisome — reading  is 
a  bore — writing  is  laborious — the  constant  flap  of  the  sail, 
the  regular  heave  of  the  ocean — the  desire  to  proceed — 
the  certainty  of  temporary  delay — all  tend  to  create  an 
irritability  of  temper  visible  in  every  body ;  even  Robert 
has  lost  his  equanimity  and  has  taken  to  whistling — the 
spouting  of  the  whales  amused  him  some  at  first,  but  that 
novelty  is  over.  For  ourselves,  like  the  Great  Frederick, 
we  shall  conjugate  the  verb  "  Ennuyer" — for  we  are  really 
at  a  loss  what  else  to  undertake — we  have  already  operated 
upon  one  of  the  dogs,  and  dissected  the  tips  of  his  ears 
with  the  accuracy  of  a  Velpeau — we  then  tried  to  get  up  a 
fight  with  the  raccoon,  but  the  "old  coon"  won't  fight; 
we  next  took  to  ogling  the  Welsh  girl,  but  we  detected  a 
dirty  stocking — that  grave  of  sentiment !  Wonder  if  an 
"Ave  Maria"  would  bring  a  breeze!  but  no!  we  will 
reserve  that  as  our  "forlorn  hope."  Here  goes  for 
brandy  and  water,  the  best  provocative  to  meditation. 
What  a  cold-blooded  villain  that  steward  is !  He  abso- 
lutely smiled  the  first  day  he  brought  us  brandy  and 
water — but  we  forgive  him  now;  it  was  our  hour  of 
weakness,  and  few  persons  can  be  heroes  in  the  eyes 
of  a  ship-steward — Napoleon  Bonaparte  could  not  stcmd 
the  sea,  for  he  lay  down  the  whole  of  the  voyage  to 
Egypt,  and  it  must  be  remembered  that  Caesar  had  not 
yet  embarked  when  he  talked  so  proudly  about  carrying 


A  SHIP  BY  MOONLIGHT. 


19 


"  Caesar  and  his  fortunes."  I  suspect  he  lowered  his  tone 
when  it  came  to  the  tossing  of  himself  and  his  vitals. 

Oct.  19,  18 — .  To-day  we  have  a  stiff  breeze — eleven 
knots  per  hour — studding  sails  set  and  the  spray  flying — 
but  my  head  is  fizzy — we  attribute  that  to  a  little  spiritual 
unction  indulged  in  last  night.  It  is  rather  strange  that 
my  appetite  should  be  so  indifferent,  and  my  nerves  of 
taste  so  completely  revolutionized  ;  nothing  tastes  natural ; 
besides,  this  confounded  dampness  is  excessively  annoying  ; 
■wherever  you  put  your  hand  it  sticks  like  a  plaster ; — even 
one's  pockets — those  sacred  recesses — are  not  dry.  It  may 
be  very  pleasant  for  some  people  to  be  at  sea,  but  we  shall 
rejoice  exceedingly  when  we  once  more  touch  the  solid 
stratum.  By  the  way,  this  morning,  Robert  made  a  de- 
monstration with  his  left  arm  and  planted  a  flush  blow  upon 
the  face  of  some  unfortunate  steerage  passenger ;  what 
had  raised  his  ire  to  this  pitch  we  could  not  ascertain — the 
"gossamer"  acted  quite  a  conspicuous  part  in  the  business, 
and  was  seen  to  roll  some  distance  from  the  scene  of  action. 
The  captain  soon  interfered,  and  order  was  re-established. 
The  Welsh  girl  looks  quite  interesting  by  moonlight — but 
then  this  sea-life  plays  the  deuce  with  a  woman's  embellish- 
ments— it  is  a  perfect  disenchanter,  taking  the  rose  from 
her' cheek — smoothness  from  her  hair,  and  shape  from  her 
person ;  this  element  was  only  intended  for  Naiads  and 
Mermaids ;  we  were  interrupted  here  in  order  to  go  on 
deck  and  see  a  vessel  under  full  sail  by  moonlight.  She 
passed  within  forty  yards  of  us,  and  looked  beautiful — we 
hailed,  and  were  answered  in  French ;  so  we  are  not  alone 
upon  the  boundless  sea  !  It  is  really  a  pleasant  feeling  to 
come  so  near  humanity  again — to  mark  one  spot  in  this 
wide  solitude  where  the  eye  may  rest  with  pleasure,  and 
the  heart  be  consoled  with  the  thought  of  companionship. 


20 


WILD  OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


God  speed  them  !  She  came  and  faded  into  darkness  like 
an  apparition.  We  thought  of  the  Water  Witch  and  her 
sea-green  lady.  There  is  a  romance  about  the  ocean  in 
spite  of  its  vicious  qualities — but  it  shows  better  from  the 
shore.  To-morrow  night  we  expect  to  make  Cape  Clear. 
I  shall  hail  it  with  rapture. 

Oct,  23,  11 J  o'clock,  P.  M. — After  one  hour  of  tolera- 
ble anxiety,  the  watch  has  just  screamed  out,  "Light 
ahead."  It  is  Cape  Clear  at  last.  We  shall  now  turn  in 
and  "sleep  away  the  morning,"  as  King  Dick  says. 

The  first  land  we  had  the  pleasure  to  behold  was  the 
Salters,  two  hills  on  the  Coast  of  Ireland.  "  Barring  ac- 
cidents," we  shall  dine  to-morrow  in  Liverpool— joyful 
thought.  The  pilot  has  just  stepped  aboard,  and  seems 
quite  a  lion  among  the  steerage  passengers.  One  would 
suppose  he  left  the  thermometer  at  zero,  and  it  would  be 
difficult  to  tell  where  his  body  is  among  the  number  of 
coats  in  which  it  is  embalmed.  These  men  are,  no  doubt, 
capital  fellows  in  a  blow,  but  they  are  rather  rough.  Tlfe 
day  has  been  delightful,  and  the  channel  not  very  wicked. 
In  a  squall  or  two  last  evening,  one  struck  us  aback  while 
we  were  at  tea.  There  was  a  terrible  rumpus  on  deck — 
the  captain  rushed  up,  screaming.  "  Hard  up" — "  Hard 
ah  elm."  The  "  old  lady,"  who  was  seated  opposite  to  me, 
scarcely  heard  the  row  before  she  gave  a  spasmodic  groan, 
and  seized  hold  of  a  leg  of  mutton  on  the  table,  doubtless 
thinking  it  a  life  preserver.  We  left  her  to  the  aid  of  salts 
and  the  tender  mercies  of  the  stewardess,  and  went  on 
deck ;  here  it  was  pitch  dark,  and  the  first  step  we  fell  over 
a  coil  of  rope,  thereby  hitting  our  friend  "  Sails"  in  the 
abdominal  region,  for  which  favor  we  received  a  heavy 
curse,  with  the  intelligence  that  there  was  plenty  of  wind 


ARRIVAL  IN  LONDON. 


21 


without  taking  his.  Finding  ourselves  in  the  way,  we 
again  descended  and  comforted  the  "  old  lady'*  with  the 
assurance  that  we  had  only  been  run  into  by  another  ship, 
but  were  not  sinking  as  yet.  This  produced  another 
spasm,  which  the  stewardess  could  scarcely  relieve  for 
laughter.  These  squalls  are  rather  a  pleasant  amusement. 
They  operate  so  quickly  among  the  studding  sails.  The 
Coast  of  Ireland  has  a  very  unprepossessing  appearance. 
We  should  dislike  a  close  acquaintance  with  certain  parts  of 
it — that  of  Wales  looks  less  dangerous — Holyhead  is  very 
striking — the  Welsh  mountains  can  be  distinctly  seen  in 
the  distance,  dotted  here  and  there  with  snow.  Snowden 
looks  magnificent,  looming  high  into  the  clouds.  We  are 
itching  to  set  our  foot  on  land,  and  to  feed  once  more  in 
luxuriant  repose  and  certainty,  without  being  obliged  to 
hold  on  to  the  table  with  the  desperate  energy  of  a 
famished  man.    Good  night  to  Holyhead. 


LEAF  III. 

Morley's  Hotel,  London. 
Here  we  are  in  London,  and  our  money  is  flowing  like 
water  from  the  rock ;  every  thing  must  be  paid  for  here 
in  a  quadruple  ratio.  This  is  the  land  of  lords  and  mer- 
chant princes,  and  the  evidences  of  their  wealth  are  appa- 
rent wherever  yon  turn  your  eyes.  Their  docks  are  filled 
to  overflowing  with  shipping — their  ware-houses  with  goods 
— their  fashionable  squares  are  lined  with  private  palaces 
— their  drives  crowded  with  equipages — on  every  side  are 
monuments  and  terraces,  club-houses  and  barracks.  Their 
nobles  are  proud  and  handsome,  their  shop-keepers  silky 


22 


^VILD  OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


and  contemptible — their  servants  vultures  and  their  police 
gentlemen.  The  government  is  a  government  "per  se" — 
a  visible  ubiquity,  a  tangible  torture  ;  it  lives  in  the  earth, 
the  air,  the  fire,  the  water.  Agents  in  black,  blue,  "white, 
and  gray,  like  the  weird  sisters,  mingle  in  every  operation 
of  life.  Guards  on  horseback,  sentinels  on  foot,  mar  the 
avenues,  and  prop  the  scaffolding  of  accidental  greatness. 
"The  pomp  and  circumstance  of  war"  is  here  an  every 
day  exhibition,  and  one  feels  more  like  a  spectator  at  a 
theatre  than  a  wanderer  in  the  "great  metropolis." 

Hyde  Park  was  alive  to-day,  thronged  with  every  order, 
for  the  weather  is  particularly  fine  for  London.  We  stood 
by  the  main  entrance,  near  Apsley  House,  looking  on  the 
serried  files  that  poured  through  -  the  archway ;  the  Duke 
of  Wellington  had  just  received  the  Archduke  Michael  of 
Russia,  and  the  carriages  were  in  waiting.  We  saw  the 
Iron  Duke  for  a  moment,  as  he  accompanied  his  distin- 
guished guest  to  the  door.  He  is  somewhat  bent  with 
age,  but  that  identical  nose  whereon  he  wished  "  to  hook 
the  world,"  and  which  figures  so  conspicuously  in  every 
portrait,  looked  like  an  old  acquaintance,  and  we  could  not 
help  imagining  that  we  had  seen  the  Duke  before.  He  is 
the  man  of  the  age,  and  we  were  delighted  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  him.  Apsley  House  stands  just  by  one  of  the  entrances 
to  Hyde  Park ;  from  its  front  windows  you  see  the  tri- 
umphal arch  crowned  by  the  equestrian  statue  of  Welling- 
ton, and  from  the  rear  windows  a  statue  of  Achilles,  erected 
to  him  by  the  ladies.  It  is  a  miserable  performance,  made 
from  some  cannon  taken  in  the  peninsular  war. — The  house 
is  partly  barricaded  with  iron  railing  and  wood  work  as 
a  defence  against  another  mob.  The  Duke  has  more  than 
once  touched  the  indignation  point,  and  thinks,  perhaps, 
he  may  have  to  stand  another  storm  before  Westminster 
Abbey  receives  his  ashes.    It  is  time  for  the  hero  of 


THE  PARKS  OF  LONDON. 


23 


Waterloo  to  die.  He  belongs  to  the  past,  and  the  com- 
mander-in-chief of  the  present  must  be  steam.  It  is  asto- 
nishing to  see  "what  a  number  of  children  and  female 
pedestrians  frequent  these  parks ;  many  of  the  latter 
appear  to  be  governesses,  and  it  is  rather  amusing  to  over- 
hear their  conversation — it  is  a  mixture  of  bombastic  ele- 
gance and  English  brag.  There  is  no  foolish  prohibition 
with  regard  to  the  grass,  and  people  are  allowed  to  pass 
over  it  when  they  please.  In  most  of  them  are  artificial 
lakes,  filled  with  aquatic  birds,  the  borders  of  which  are 
laid  out  and  planted  with  every  species  of  hardy  flower 
and  tree :  to  these  the  names  are  attached,  so  that  one  is 
never  puzzled  to  death  to  discover  the  species,  or  compelled 
to  tell  a  scientific  lie  to  the  uninitiated.  Some  very  pretty 
specimens  of  cottage  architecture  are  also  scattered  about, 
giving  quite  a  natural  appearance  to  the  arrangement. 

"We  like  to  ramble  through  these  Parks  in  fine  weather : 
they  afi'ord  an  excellent  opportunity  for  judging  the  extent 
of  English  wealth,  in  the  shape  of  equipages,  and  of  Eng- 
lish beauty  in  the  shape  of  petticoats.  The  women  are 
decidedly  the  healthiest  looking  creatures  in  the  world. 
As  to  their  beauty,  that  is  a  matter  of  taste,  and  we  will 
not  attempt  to  decide  it.  All  nations  present  some  admi- 
rable specimens,  and  were  another  Paris  summoned  to 
decide  the  merits,  bribery  would  again  carry  the  day.  If 
richness  of  color  and  brilliancy  of  complexion  are  sought 
for,  here  is  the  place  to  find  them.  It  is  really  delicious 
to  look  at  an  English  neck  and  bosom — such  perfect  full- 
ness !  such  exquisite  smoothness  !  such  delicate  exposure  ! 
and  than  that  aristocratic  grace  and  calmness  of  look,  that 
quiet  self-assurance,  that  blending  of  the  intellectual  with 
the  sensual  in  the  coldness  of  the  polished  brow  and  the 
warmth  of  the  heaving  bosom,  all  conspire  to  make  an 
extremely  tantalizing  picture ;  but  then  we  miss  the  variety 


24 


WILD  OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


of  style  so  apparent  in  America ;  there  is  great  sameness 
in  English  beauty,  they  all  appear  to  come  from  the  same 
mould.  The  Jerseys,  the  Seymours,  the  Gowers,  have  all 
the  national  brand ;  they  all  pass  through  the  same  physi- 
cal changes,  too  :  as  girls,  large-boned  and  healthy ;  as 
grown-up  women,  bright,  beautiful,  and  voluptuous ;  and 
as  old  dowagers,  fat,  coarse,  and  ugly,  like  a  pot  of  ale 
tipped  with  froth.  Lowther  Bazaar  and  Regent  Street  in 
the  evening  present  as  beautiful  an  array  of  frailty  as  ever 
tempted  saint  or  anchorite — and  it  is  from  this  order  of 
beings  that  you  can  best  judge  of  the  beauty  of  a  nation — 
especially  in  Europe,  where  it  is  a  remarkable  commodity 
— and  always  on  the  search  for  a  bidder  either  in  the 
matrimonial  or  the  speculative  way — but  it  would  be 
unjust  in  a  comparison  to  the  beauty  of  the  general  mass 
in  America  to  take  the  beauty  of  these  creatures  as  the 
criterion  and  proof  of  the  beauty  of  the  masses  in  England 
— ^for  they  are  all  culled  plants,  and  many  of  them  no 
doubt  owe  their  position  to  this  fated  gift  alone. 

Went  to  Drury  Lane  Theatre  last  night,  to  see  Carlotti 
Grisi  in  the  Peri.  She  dances  with  great  grace,  and  a 
certain  joyful  abandonment  of  manner  which  is  quite  cap- 
tivating; but  she  is  neither  pretty  in  form  or  feature, 
being  small  and  thin,  with  nothing  but  a  very  "  inviting 
eye"  to  fill  up  the  picture.  This  she  uses  admirably,  look- 
ing as  wicked  and  passionate  as  the  most  faded  blaze 
could  desire.  We  paused  a  moment  in  the  crush  room, 
as  we  were  passing  out,  to  think  of  the  Regent,  Byron, 
Brummell,  the  Marquis  of  Lorne,  and  many  of  those 
"  sad  dogs"  whose  empire  now  has  passed  away.  How 
often  had  they  gone  through  that  room  with  the  flash  of 
wit  upon  their  lips  and  a  host  of  worshippers  in  their 
train  ! — and  Brinsley  Sheridan  too  !  and  Monk  Lewis  and 


poet's  corner,  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY.  25 


the  stately  Ponsonhy  ! — where  are  they  now  ?  and  where 
their  successors  ?  Recall  the  night  when  Byron's  Address 
was  spoken  from  these  boards — re-assemble  the  beauty  of 
the  Jerseys — the  frailty  of  the  Lambs — the  coarse  wit  of 
Harriet  Wilson — summon  from  their  shrouds  the  regal 
Betterton,  the  courtly  Young ;  and  he  whose  brow  became 
the  princely  Hamlet — "pshaw!"  what  a  miserable  age  we 
move  in  ! 

I  will  go  to-morrow  to  see  Harriet  Wilson — they  say 
she  lives  in  one  of  the  suburbs  of  London  supported  by 
the  generous  portion  of  her  former  admirers  and  slaves — 
she  never  could  have  been  more  fascinating  than  the 
present  Mistress  of  the  Marquis  of  Hertford — quite  an 
Aspasia. 

I  have  just  finished  a  day  in  Westminster  Abbey — the 
sepulchre  for  England's  great — her  undying  ones !  wdiose 
least  memorial  is  their  ashes.  I  did  not  feel  very  enthu- 
siastic. There  are  too  many  great  names  crowded  together 
— it  distracts  you,  and  there  is  little  honor  where  so  many 
Pretenders  find  room ;  the  solitary  grave  of  a  Smollet  or  a 
Keats  is  more  apt  to  impress  you  with  the  vanity  of 
earthly  fame,  and  to  awaken  those  solemn  reflections 
which  lead  to  a  lofty  and  nobler  view  of  man's  destiny. 
Westminster  Abbey  is  more  fitted  to  give  the  poet  food  for 
his  dreams  than  the  statesman  remorse  for  his  ambition,  or 
the  historian  an  antidote  for  his  prejudice.  The  epitaph 
of  royalty  is  but  a  poor  record  of  truth ;  the  churchman's 
adulation  a  still  poorer  proof  of  goodness ;  and  the  poet's 
monument  a  miserable  consolation  for  a  life-time  of  neglect. 
Still  it  is  something  for  Genius  to  be  able  to  secure  a 
grave  by  the  side  of  Royalty — it  goes  to  prove  the  equality 
of  the  Tomb ;  besides,  it  is  pleasant  to  see  old  rivals  sleep 
80  quietly  side  by  side — to  read  over  the  names  of  Eliza- 

3 


26 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


beth  and  Mary,  Pitt  and  Fox,  as  though  they  were  "  twin 
cherries ;"  to  wonder  how  those  inimitable  children  of  sons 
manage  matters  in  ''Poet's  Corner;"  whether  Johnson 
finds  a  folio  to  hurl  at  his  argumentative  neighbor,  or 
Goldsmith  turns  his  unspeculative  eye  upon  spiritualized 
Garrick.  The  tombs  in  Westminster  Abbey  are  the  poetry 
of  death.  The  ruling  stars  of  faction  have  sunk  into  the 
same  embrace.  The  hostile  orbs  of  beauty,  poesj^  and 
sovereignty  have  closed  their  fiery  orbits  in  one  common 
centre ;  would  the  ashes  of  Byron  disturb  this  heavenly 
repose  ? — would  it  startle  the  Regent  from  his  cofiined 
propriety,  or  taint  the  orthodox  atmosphere  of  Southey  ? 
Yet  here  sleeps  Warren  Hastings,  near  the  scene  of  his 
political  apotheosis,  and  there  lie  Burke  and  Sheridan,  the 
consumers  of  his  glory — the  sensual  and  the  immoral,  the 
vicious  and  the  vain,  the  tyrant,  the  usurper,  and  the 
murderer,  find  place ;  but  there  is  no  room  for  Byron  1 
If  Westminster  Abbey  has  been  turned  from  its  high 
purpose — if  its  sacred  aisles  and  holy  altar,  built  to  teach 
men  how  to  die,  have  been  converted  into  a  mere  receptacle 
for  England's  "honored  dead,"  then  should  room  be  found 
for  all  of  them,  no  matter  what  their  religious  or  political 
tastes  might  have  been.  The  chapel  of  the  Seventh  Henry 
is  exceedingly  solemn  and  beautiful ;  there  is  a  mystic 
power,  a  voiceless  religion  in  its  vacant  stalls  and  knightly 
banners,  filled  with  the  dust  of  centuries — untouched  by 
the  breeze  of  Heaven.  Time  stands  like  a  stoled  Priest,  at 
its  altar,  and  the  beings  of  the  mind  move  noiseless  o'er  its 
marble  floor.  The  chapel  of  Edward  the  Confessor  stands 
immediately  behind  the  altar  of  the  church,  and  is  ap- 
proached by  a  flight  of  steps.  Around  you  lay  the  marble 
effigies  of  the  Henrys — with  here  and  there  some  kneeling 
form,  with  stony  hands  stretched  in  eternal  supplication, — 
rude  figures,  with  trailing  garments,  bend  life-like  in  the 


en'glaxd's  monuments. 


"dim,  discolored  light"  over  the  stiff  and  outstretched 
body  of  some  armed  warrior — and  pale  statues  look 
coldly  from  their  pedestals  upon  your  reverential 
homage.  You  stalk  like  an  earthly  intruder  amid  the 
devotion  of  unimpassioned  penitents,  whose  vow  is 
silence,  and  whose  occupation  prayer.  I  could  have 
murdered  my  guide  without  the  slightest  remorse. 
He  persecuted  me  almost  to  death  with  his  historical 
research  and  self-satisfied  opinion.  Cane  in  hand,  he 
tapped  upon  every  tomb,  and  glided  on  in  a  sort  of  oily 
slang  upon  the  merits  of  its  style  and  the  virtues  of  its 
occupant.  I  thanked  God  fervently  when  he  told  me  the 
rest  of  the  Abbey  could  be  enjoyed  without  his  aid.  He 
seemed  very  anxious  to  show  me  the  Coronation  Chairs,  to 
have  me  know  that  Victoria  had  retired  into  that  small 
chapel  during  her  coronation,  overcome  with  emotion — 
or  something  else,  perhaps.  These  English  guides  are 
more  annoying  than  a  host  of  Orleans  musquitoes.  I 
would  rather  have  a  tiger,  fresh  from  the  jungles,  by  my 
side.  The  woman  who  shows  the  regalia  in  the  Tower  is 
a  perfect  emetic.  Nothing  could  induce  me  to  go  there 
before  breakfast.  The  architectural  beauty  of  the  monu- 
ments in  the  Abbey,  as  far  as  I  could  judge,  is  not  of  the 
highest  order.  That  of  Lady  Nightingale  is  more  odd 
than  impressive — rather  a  work  of  art  than  of  genius. 
The  tomb  of  Andre  is  plain,  but  not  the  less  interesting. 
There  is  also  one  to  Wolfe.  But  I  prefer  More's  Monu- 
ment, in  St.  Paul's,  to  all  others.  The  sculptor  has  taken 
the  poet's  lines  on  his  burial  for  his  guide,  and  has  repre- 
sented him  just  being  lowered  into  the  grave  "with  his 
martial  cloak  around  him."  The  execution  is  equal  to  the 
design.  London  abounds  in  monuments,  but  mostly  to 
her  warriors.  They  have  a  fine  one  to  Nelson  in  Trafalgar 
Square.    Verily  the  children  of  glory  have  their  reward ! 


28 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


He  will  almost  stand  high  enough  up  there  to  see  the  grave 
of  Emma  on  the  Gallic  shore :  not  a  very  desirable  pros- 
pect. 


LEAF  IV. 

Morlet's  Hotel,  London-. 
I  SET  out  this  morning  to  take  a  glimpse  of  the  palaces. 
The  Queen's  Band  was  playing  in  front  of  the  Bucking- 
ham. It  is  an  ordinary  looking  affair,  and  disappointed  me 
greatly.  St.  James  and  Whitehall  are  the  most  interest- 
ino:.  I  asked  in  vain  to  be  shown  the  window  throuorh 
which  Charles  was  led  to  execution.  On  my  route  I  passed 
Almack's,  an  old,  dreary-looking  building,  and  which  one 
would  suppose  would  scarcely  be  selected  by  the  aristo- 
cratic world  as  the  theatre  of  their  glory.  Alas,  for 
Almack's  !  Its  Brummelism  is  over — its  exclusive  great- 
ness has  departed — the  rose-leaves  of  fashion  bloom  no 
longer  within  its  degenerate  walls — the  petted  darlings  of 
Bond  street  look  superciliously  upon  its  "barren  sceptre," 
and  from  the  nostrils  of  ancestral  pride  breathes  "  beauti- 
ful disdain"  at  mention  of  its  once  despotic  sway.  So 
fades  the  empire  of  folly  : 

"  Farewell  the  plumed  head,  and  snowy  pearls 
That  make  complexion  glorious  !    0,  farewell ! 
Farewell  the  coronet  and  glittering  star — 
The  spirit-stirring  voice — the  princely  smile  — 
The  royal  Garter — and  all  quality, 
Pomp,  glare,  and  haughtiness  of  rampant  Fashion ! 
And  0,  exquisite  mortals,  whose  long  hair 
The  Nemean  lion's  mane  doth  counterfeit. 
Farewell ! — the  reign  of  Almack's,  is  no  more  \" 


MADAME  TAUSSAUD's  WAX  WORKS.  29 


The  next  generation  will  sneer,  perhaps,  at  Eton  Square 
and  the  West  End,  while  some  other  haughty  star  will 
gain  the  ascendant.  There  opposite  to  my  window,  stands 
Northumberland  House,  the  home  of  "  Percy's  high-born 
race" — dark,  time-worn — with  its  grated  portals  and 
heraldric  lion — emblems  of  the  baronial  age  that  gave 
it  birth. 

Turn  into  St.  James'  Park,  down  Carlton  Terrace,  and 
Marlboro'  House  greets  you,  where  Annie's  despot  wove 
her  web.  Still  farther,  and  the  palace  of  the  Duke  of 
Sutherland  is  before  you.  Sweep  along  Pall  Mall,  and  up 
Regent  street :  club-house  after  club-house,  with  more 
than  regal  splendor,  crowds  your  way.  This  is  the  London 
focus — the  heart  of  dissipation.  In  this  circle  revolve  the 
favored  children  of  fortune.  Here  is  Crockford's  with  its 
outward  gentility  and  inward  hell.  There  is  Brooke's — 
"White's — Boodle's,  the  haunts  of  political  hacks — the 
paradise  of  titled  bloods.  How  many  cross  these  thresh- 
liolds  whose  drawing-room  is  a  garret,  and  whose  revenue 
is  thin  air  and  subtle  brains ;  their  home,  their  character, 
their  means,  their  life  is  the  club-house.  Stroll  by  these 
civic  barracks  at  dusk,  and  throngs  of  frailty  of  every 
grade  will  cross  your  path — frail  and  beautiful  as  dreams. 
Such  eyes  I  complexion !  hair  I  as  I  have  seen  offered  for 
sale  in  Regent  street !  Talk  of  the  Turks  and  their  slave 
market ! 


Madame  Taussaud's  wax  works !  I  thought  of  Mrs. 
Jarvey  and  Little  Nell.  Yet  they  were  well  worth  a  visit. 
Night  is  the  best  time.  Like  ball-room  beauties,  the 
"garish  light  of  day"  reveals  too  much.  Here  are 
gi"ouped  the  distinguished  characters  of  their  day,  from 
Napoleon  to  the  Irish  agitator.  The  Congress  of  Vienna 
is  here  in  continued  session  ;  and  the  theatrical  display  of 


30 


VriU)    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


George  the  Fourth,  in  his  genuine  coronation  robes,  is 
perpetuated  for  the  benefit  of  posterity.  Here  stands  the 
over-dressed  Voltaire  and  the  mantled  Byron — the  revolu- 
tionary Washington  and  the  "  Iron  Duke."  Here  is 
Napoleon  in  his  identical  grey  frock,  the  camp-bed  he 
died  in — yea,  the  very  shirt  stained  with  his  precious 
blood.  Here  is  the  table  on  which  he  signed  his  abdica- 
tion; and  from  the  end  of  that  string  hangs  a  tooth  which 
once  masticated  his  provender.  You  may  sit  in  the  car- 
riage which  the  enraged  Prussians  seized  near  the  field 
of  Waterloo,  but  which  the  hero  of  an  hundred  fights  had 
already  abdicated;  and  were  it  not  for  a  glass  case,  you 
might  even  blow  your  nose  upon  the  same  "rag"  or  take 
snufi*  from  the  same  box  that  titilated  the  proboscis  of  the 
Imperial  demi-god !  Who  can  analyze  the  sneeze  that 
might  follow  such  a  desecration ! 

Walk  up  stairs  into  the  chamber  of  horror.  There  is 
Murat  just  murdered  in  his  bath  by  Charlotte  Corday. 
The  "friend  of  the  people"  had  a  villainous  face.  There 
is  Robespierre,  taken  immediately  after  death.  It  is  a 
placid  and  merciful-looking  physiognomy,  but  the  eye 
protrudes  too  much.  There  is  also  his  brother,  and  St. 
Just,  the  lion-heart  of  the  reign  of  terror.  The  little 
wretch  Fieschi  looks  life-like,  standing  by  his  infernal 
machine.  There,  too,  is  an  elegant  sufficiency  of  scoun- 
drels in  that  corner — the  very  elite  of  murderers — the 
"best  of  cut-throats" — the  criminal  aristocracy  of  the  age, 
headed  by  that  arch  fiend,  Burke.  I  have  never  seen  more 
perfect  Daguerreotypes  of  crime.  Violence  lurks  in  every 
wrinkle  of  the  mouth,  and  cold  blooded  cruelty  sleep  coiled 
in  every  eye.  I  almost  anticipated  being  stabbed  in  the 
back  or  Burked,  as  I  descended  the  steps,  by  these  waxen 
representatives  of  hell.  It  is  no  doubt  a  weakness,  but 
nevertheless  a  truth,  that  most  people  have  a  passion  for 


THE  "beauties"  OF  HAMPTON  COURT.  31 


wax  works.  There  is  something  ghostly — something  that 
savors  of  the  "spirit  land" — in  the  white  brow,  the  quiet, 
unspeculative  gaze  of  these  digital  creations.  A  child 
will  admire  and  touch  a  statue,  but  it  dreads  a  wax 
figure.    Solve  me  the  enigma  of  that,  sphynx  ! 

The  railroad  carries  you  within  half  an  hour's  walk  of 
Hampton  Court  Palace.  This  is,  indeed,  a  palace ;  and 
for  the  first  time  I  felt  disposed  to  envy  kings  and  queens. 
The  grounds  are  beautiful,  and  whether  it  was  the  fall  of 
the  leaf  or  a  dream  of  the  days  of  Woolsey,  I  know  not,  but 
felt  as  if  it  would  be  a  near  approach  to  bliss  to  live  and 
die  at  Hampton  Court.  Charles  the  Second  gave  this 
palace  to  the  Duke  of  Albemarle,  but  it  was  afterwards 
redeemed  and  occupied  by  him.  The  Cartoons  of  Raflfaell 
and  Lely's  Beauties  are  the  principal  attractions  of  the 
establishment.  The  beauties  have  a  strong  family  resem- 
blance— the  same  soft,  sleepy  eye — the  same  complexion 
— the  same  voluptuous,  or  rather  licentious  undress — the 
same  studied  ahandon  of  appearance.  The  infamous 
Duchess  of  Cleaveland  is  decidedly  the  handsomest  of  the 
party.  Miss  Brooks,  afterward  Lady  Denham,  is  a  good 
specimen  of  the  English  beauty ;  and  the  Duchess  of  Rich- 
mond (La  Belle  Stewart,)  just  looks  vicious  enough  to 
show  her  limbs  in  the  manner  Grammont  has  recorded. 
The  "lovely  Jennings"  is  not  among  the  number,  and  "La 
Belle  Hamilton"  disappointed  me  greatly  ;  but  it  is  difficult 
to  form  a  correct  idea  of  the  beauty  of  these  Courtly  rakes 
from  the  portraits  of  Lely.  There  is  too  much  of  the 
languishing  style  of  the  painter,  and  the  artificial 
wantonness  of  the  age  introduced  into  all  of  them — no 
variety  of  expression — none  of  the  mental  characteristics, 
which  should  distinguish  the  spiritual  Whitmore  from 
the  silly  and  insipid  Stewart.  They  are  all  equally  beau- 
tiful, equally  nude,  and  equally  characterless.    Lely  might 


32 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


well  be  an  artist's  envy,  but  should  never  become  an 
artist's  model.  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller,  with  all  his  vanity 
and  conceit,  and  with  all  the  flattery  of  the  age,  was  but 
an  indifferent  painter ;  and  it  is  an  enigma  to  me  how 
George  the  Third  could  select  such  a  portrait  painter  as 
West,  when  he  could  command  a  Joshua  Reynolds. 

It  requires  two  days  for  a  satisfactory  examination  of 
Hampton  Court.  There  are  some  twelve  hundred  pictures, 
and  many  of  them  of  great  historical  interest.  It  is  the 
only  spot  which  I  Jiave  yet  visited  where  fees  are  not 
exacted,  or  where  one  may  stroll  undisturbed  by  the 
magpie-tongue  of  a  guide — it  is  a  blessing  for  which 
we  should  be  devoutly  thankful. 

I  spent  last  night  in  studying  human  nature,  and  am 
repaid  this  morning  with  a  slight  touch  of  rheumatism, 
and  a  delicious  headache — verily  retributive  justice  strides 
close  upon  ,the  heels  of  crime — I  dined  with  Captain 

H  ,  and  as  he  insisted  upon  showing  me  the  "  Flash 

cribs"  of  the  Metropolis  I  could  do  no  less  than  place 
myself  at  his  disposal — to  say  that  I  had  any  disinclination 
to  the  amusement  would  be  a  falsehood — I  lay  no  claim  to 
tliat  morality  that  covered  Joseph  as  with  a  shield,  and 
though  I  should  disdain  to  set  a  trap  for  any  straggling 
Mrs.  Potiphar,  I  should  still  feel  myself  justified  in  reliev- 
ing the  sufferings  of  an  amiable  woman,  who,  believed 
herself  the  victim  of  a  "prostrating  passion."  Virtue  in 
others  is  my  idol.  I  look  upon  it  as  the  snowy  garment 
with  which  Heaven  has  clothed  its  chosen  ones — the  stars 
themselves  look  not  so  beautiful  in  their  pure  glory  as  the 
heart  of  man  or  w^oman  wrapped  in  the  fleecy  folds  of 
olirystal  virtue — but  unfortunately  for  me  I  could  never 
procure  this  species  of  clothing,  and  in  its  absence  I  have 
steeled  myself  in  wisdom's  armour — it  answers  the  purpose 


LOVE-  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 


33 


tolerably  well  and  I  sometimes  congratulate  myself,  with 
reasonable  degree  of  truth,  upon  my  irreproachable  conduct 
— but  alas  I  for  wisdom's  armour  !  I  too  often  find  myself, 
after  some  oblivious  era  of  darkness,  looking  upon  it  as 
the  soldier  looks  upon  his  ''cloven  shield" — fragile  and 
worthless  and  scarcely  fit  to  bear  a  Spartan's  body  from 
the  inglorious  field.  How  I  envy  that  man  whose  life  is 
spent  in  one  continued  homage  at  the  shrine  of  virtue  ! 
Here  I  was  interrupted  by  a  visitor,  and  for  the  soul  of  me 
I  cannot  renew  the  broken  thread  of  my  panegyric  on 
virtue — no  matter,  it  needs  no  eulogist.  It  is  the  holy 
water  of  the  heart,  and  sanctifies  all  it  weeps  upon — quite 
a  pretty  thought  that — I  should  have  said  conceit — as  I 

was  about  to  observe  I  went  with  Captain  H          first  to 

Crockford's  where  I  saw  nothing  but  a  fine  saloon — some 
recherche  looking  exquisites — one  or  two  hazard  tables — a 
*' rouge  et  noir"  and  no  players — this  was  rather  stupid — 
so  we  turned  about  to  take  an  observation  or  two  in  the 
crowded  circles  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre.  The  Captain 
seemed  perfectly  at  home  among  these  semi-Paphian  bowers, 
and  we  were  soon  surrounded  by  a  host  of  Cyprians 
lovelier  than  the  Lamias  of  old — I  could  not  but  be  struck 
with  the  extreme  youth  and  beauty  of  many  of  these 
miserable  creatures — the  crushed  rose  leaves  scattered 
from  the  vases  of  opulence  and  satiety  to  feed  the  passions 
and  to  lure  the  judgment  of  the  crowd ;  such  a  state  of 
things,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  is  distressing — but  where  is 
the  remedy  ?  Civilization  brings  luxury — luxury  developes 
desire — desire  seeks  beauty — beauty  is  in  demand — beauty 
is  poor — beauty  is  vain,  and  beauty  is  victimized.  Voila 
tout !  Could  Moses — could  Lycurgus — could  Solon — quench 
the  fire  ?  Preach  virtue  from  the  tops  of  Pisgah  to  the 
vale  of  Tempei — let  its  indignation  roll  like  the  surge  over 
Italy,  and  through  the  Alpine  passes  to  the  very  doors  of 
c 


34 


WILD    OATS,  SOTTX  ABROAD. 


Drury  Lane — still  vice  will  have  her  palace,  and  float 
boujantlj  'mid  the  wrath  of  the  tempest.  Look  at  the 
eyes  of  that  child  of  sin — see  the  dove-like  expression  of 
her  glance — the  pure  white  of  her  little  fingers  as  she 
parts  the  long  hair  from  her  brow  where  purity  itself  seems 
throned — then  mark  that  seductive  little  foot  nestled  on 
,its  blue  cushion  like  a  Halcyon  on  the  water,  and  that 
sweet,  young  breast,  whose  gentle  movement  swells  to 
rapture  at  your  dreamy  gaze,  and  those  light  lips  so 
ripe,  so  warm,  so  full  of  bliss  yet  unrevealed  ;  and 
tell  me  where  mischief  stops  when  such  an  agent  holds 
the  torch:  and  yet  I  had  scarcely  thrown  myself  into 
a  seat  in  the  Foyer  o-f  the  second  tier  before  just  such 
a  creature  assailed  me.  Forgive  me  austere  virtue !  if 
resolution  faltered  and  morality  grew  pale.  True  I  had  a 
cold  constitution  and  magnificent  stoicism  to  support  me ; 
but  the  crisis  was  dreadful.  Frown  not.  Oh !  shades 
of  the  untempted  I  so  darkly  upon  your  weak  brother.  I 
tell  you  I  did  resist !  I  cried  avaunt !  to  the  tempter.  I 
summoned  a  spirit  from  memory's  halls,  whose  pale  cheek 
smote  me  to  the  soul.  But  like  the  phantom  of  Astarte  it 
w  ould  not  speak  to  me,  and  here  by  my  very  side  was  flesh 
and  blood  with  the  voice  of  Eve's  charmer  poisoning  my 
senses,  and  sweetening  persuasion  with  the  incense  of 
loveliness  and  passion.  Oh,  it  is  horrible  for  wicked 
woman  to  place  her  little  hand  upon  your  shoulder, 
and  half  whisper  in  your  ear,  while  the  warm  breath 
of  her  sweet  mouth  is  creeping  through  your  hair  like 
amorous  Diana's  stole  on  the  slumber  of  Endymion.  I 
turned  away  from  the  precipice.  I  took  another  seat, 
but  the  little  wretch  had  already  become  a  part  of 
sight.  She  was  again  by  my  side.  ^'My  dear  child," 
said  I  in  the  most  parental  tone,  go  away !  all  this 
is   'love's  labor  lost."    Why  don't  you  try  some  other 


"loaves  labor  lost." 


35 


person.  Surelj  such  a  face  as  yours  can  always  com- 
mand a  customer."  She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then 
answered  good  humouredly,  Your  manner,  sir,  is  cer- 
tainly rude,  and  your  compliment  to  my  face  indifferently 
flattering.  Besides  you  are  slightly  mistaken.  I  am  not  in 
search  of  a  customer,  and  if  I  were,  you  are  not  my  style 
of  man.    Your  whole  income  would  not  buy  my  gloves." 

"Pray  where  did  you  learn  that  fact?" 

"  Your  friend  told  me  you  were  here  with  him  the  last 
night  the  Grisi  danced  the  Peri.  I  was  with  S.  in  the 
opposite  box,  and  in  a  capricious  moment  took  a  fancy 
for  your  melancholy  face.  I  felt  inclined  to  bleed  you, 
and  questioned  W.  yesterday  about  the  extent  of  your 
banker's  account," 

I  feel  much  indebted  for  your  kind  intentions.  But 
go  on." 

He  told  me  you  were  an  American,  but  strange 
to  say  neither  a  millionaire  nor  a  flat." 

"Are  we  Americans  generally  ranked  under  one  of 
these  two  divisions?" 

"  Frequently ;  at  least  those  who  visit  Piccadilly 
saloon." 

"  By  the  way,  do  you  see  many  Americans  there  ?" 

"  No ;  it  is  too  expensive  for  the  few  and  too  select  for 
the  many.  Now  and  then  some  of  your  aspiring  citizen 
princes  drop  in  and  out-Herod  Herod  in  extravagance. 
Are  you  Americans  so  lavish  with  your  money  at  home  ?" 

"  Why  yes,  I  think  it  the  national  weakness  of  the 
young.  But  since  you  have  made  known  your  flattering 
intentions  you  will  excuse  me  if  I  decline  submitting  to 
the  operation.  I  hate  a  mercenary  woman  as  I  do  the 
devil." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  says  she  calmly,  "  don't  flurry  your- 
self.   Who  asked  you  for  money?    I  told  you  I  liked 


36 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


your  face,  and  if  jou  cannot  take  a  delicate  hint,  you  must 
be  the  essence  of  stupidity." 

My  dear  Madam,  there  breathes  not  a  human  being 
under  the  sun  whose  sensibilities  are  so  keenly  alive  to 
the  fascination  of  a  lady's  challenge,  or  whose  research 
has  more  fully  investigated  the  subtleties  of  a  lady's  hint. 
I  can  ring  you  all  the  changes  from  the  hint  equivocal 
of  the  coquettish  eye  down  to  the  hint  direct  of  the  wanton 
organ  of  speech.  I  am  a  virtuous  man."  She  smiled. 
"You  may  smile — I  am,  but  I  dislike  being  considered  an 

ungallant  one.    I  am  now  going  with  Captain  H  to  the 

*' shades,"  but  will  be  at  Goodred's  saloon  by  twelve.  Let 
the  carriage  set  you  down  there  after  the  Theatre,  and 
you  can  amuse  yourself  by  ordering  supper  for  three.  We 
will  join  you  at  twelve  precisely." 

"  But  why  bring  Captain  H  with  you  ?    Why  not  a 

pleasant  ^  tete  a  tete.'    Three  are  such  poor  company." 

The  best  reason  in  the  world.  I  have  never  been  at 
Goodred's,  and  must  go  under  his  auspices.  Besides  he 
tells  me  the  Marquis'  Mistress  will  be  there,  and  I  am 
to  be  introduced  in  form.  So  you  may  as  well  order  supper 
for  four,  and  we  will  persuade  her  to  join  us.  So  you  know 
her?" 

"  Oh  yes  !  intimately." 

*'  But  remember  child,  I  only  sup  with  you.  Tempt  me 
no  further." 

"  No  !"  says  she.  "  I  suspect  the  Marquis'  Mistress  is  to 
do  the  rest  of  the  tempting." 

"  No !  by  the  Delphian  oracle  I  swear  if  I  am  to  fall, 
you  shall  be  the  serpent,  and  your  bower  the  Eden  of  my 
bliss." 

"I  imagined  you  were  poetical"  she  replied,  "but  I  had 
no  idea  you  would  compare  me  to  a  *  snake  in  the  grass' 
after  my  open  avowal.  However,  we  will  sup  together 
- — and  then — and  then — and  then." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  SHADES. 


37 


LEAF  V. 

"THE  SHADES." 

Here  Capt.  H         joined  me.    We  left  the  theatre, 

and  on  our  way  to  the  "  Shades,"  he  told  me  I  had  made 
a  conquest  of  a  very  capricious  and  extravagant  creature, 

who  had  nearly  ruined  Capt.  A  ,  and  was  now  in  the 

keeping  of  some  very  young  and  wealthy  Hungarian.  I 
felt  somewhat  alarmed  at  the  probable  sum-total  which  her 
aristocratic  taste  might  prepare  for  me  in  the  shape  of  a 
supper-bill ;  but  the  edict  was  irrevocable,  and  the  smoke 
and  noise  of  the  Shades"  soon  dissipated  the  idea.  It 
was  a  terrible  hole.  We  had  to  dive  down  a  miserable, 
narrow  flight  of  steps,  and  it  was  some  moments  before  I 
could  discover,  through  the  dense  smoke,  that  we  had 
entered  a  long,  low-ceilinged  room,  full  of  every  descrip- 
tion of  character — thieves,  cabmen,  and  flash  mechanics, 
all  feeding  like  open  valves  the  dark  cloud  that  enveloped 
them.  I  could  scarcely  breathe  for  the  smoke,  and  in  my 
haste  to  reach  the  bar,  I  stumbled  over  the  outstretched 

legs  of  one  of  the  vagabonds,  who  "  d  d  my  eyes" 

with  an  energy  almost  ecstatic. 

We  called  for  some  "  Negus,"  and  while  the  Captain 
entertained  Jem  Rice,  the  landlord,  I  took  a  look  at  the 
details  of  the  establishment.  It  was  the  very  Paradise  of 
low-life — just  the  haunt  where  Vice  is  least  adorned. 
Here  was  food  enough  for  an  hundred  such  heroes  as 
modern  novelists  delight  to  draw  ;  but  the  fancy  nobility 
of  crime  which  is  portrayed  in  a  Shephard  or  a  Cliff'ord, 
could  scarcely  survive  the  test  of  a  visit  to  the  Shades. 
There  is  nothing  of  the  grand  or  the  sublime  in  its  une- 

4 


38 


TVILD    OATS.  SOTTN  ABROAD. 


quivocal,  unmitigated  rascality.  Apart  from  the  besti- 
ality of  the  place,  there  was  one  or  two  touches  of  the 
ludicrous  which  might  have  furnished  a  Van  Mieren  with 
many  a  subject  for  his  pencil.  There  was  one  group  in 
particular  especially  rich.  They  were  deeply  engaged  in 
discussing  the  merits  of  Bendigo,  the  prize-fighter.  It 
was  almost  impossible  to  recognize  the  language  they  used, 
and  it  would  have  puzzled  Mezzofanti  himself  to  pronounce 
upon  it.  One  short-legged  little  individual  had  just  put  a 
question,  which  seemed  a  poser  to  his  long  antagonist,  and 
was  looking  up  at  him  with  his  finger  on  his  nose,  in  a 
sort  of  "  answer-me-that"  air,  exquisitely  perplexing.  His 
long  adversary  was  endeavoring  to  evade  the  question  by 
sinking  his  chin  into  the  depths  of  a  very  high  and  very 
flash  cravat.  The  whole  party  seemed  greatly  interested 
in  the  resolving  of  that  single  point.  It  must  have  been 
the  very  hinge  of  the  controversy.  The  little-legged  man, 
perfectly  aware  of  his  interrogative  strength,  threw  off 
another  Tusculum  question,  with  an  energy  that  fairly 
raised  him  from  the  floor,  and  with  a  convulsive  thrust  of 
the  left  hand  into  his  waistcoat  pocket,  awaited  the  result. 
The  excitement  was  now  intense — every  pipe  hung  lip- 
Euspended,  but  unexhaled — one  general  paralysis  of  the 
imbibing  functions;  even  the  petticoat  portion  of  the  group 
ceased  to  coquette  with  their  "Negus."  The  long  gentle- 
man with  the  interminable  cravat  e^'ed  the  opposition  as  a 
Matadore  does  a  bull,  and  said,  in  a  rather  subdued  tone, 
*'  Damn  me,  if  he  did  !" 

"  What !"  cries  the  small  man,  frantically,  "  you  make 
out  Ward  a  liar  ?" 

"  Most  distinctly,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 

This  announcement  acted  like  a  galvanic  battery — arms, 
legs,  and  hats  struck  out  with  nervous  fervor.  The  "  im- 
palpable air"  grew  thick  with  wandering  pipe  stems  and 


THE  MODERN  ^*  ASPASIA." 


39 


"vsiiiged  tumblers.  Jem  Rice  shouted  like  a  Bacchanal  pos- 
sessed, and,  decanter  in  hand,  floored  the  nearest  combat- 
ant with  an  impulse  that  sprinkled  the  baptismal  liquor  in 
every  direction.  The  Captain  and  myself  threaded  our  way 
through  the  different  discords  with  the  speed  of  Love,  and 
soon  found  ourselves  once  more  in  the  open  air.  I  declined 
visiting  any  more  of  these  haunts,  so  we  took  our  course 
direct  for  "  Goodred's."  It  was  some  minutes  before 
twelve  when  we  entered,  but  the  party  had  already  arrived 
and  were  cozily  chatting  together  in  one  corner  of  the 
saloon — I  had  once  before  seen  this  famous  mistress  of 
H's — but  in  a  bad  light,  and  under  the  influence  of  a  pet 
— she  was  a  clergyman's  daughter — had  received  an  excel- 
lent education,  and  is  considered  among  the  most  accom- 
plished courtezans  of  the  season.  She  is  a  blonde,  with  a 
very  warm  eye,  and  a  certain  sincerity  of  manner  very 
attractive — the  shape  of  her  head  is  superb,  and  her  feet 
are  like  a  fairy's — but  her  chief  charm  is  a  laugh  whose 
gaiety  would  bring  a  smile  upon  the  lips  of  Niobe  herself, 
and  throw  sunlight  over  the  deepest  shade  of  grief — she 
enslaved  me  with  a  look,  a  voice  whose  fascination  soothed 
the  ear  as  does  the  sound  of  "  many  waters."  I  found 
myself  gliding  like  a  launched  ship — smoothly — softly — 
sweetly,  into  the  Syren's  power,  and  my  virtuous  resolu- 
tions stood  like  weeping  Ariadnes  on  the  shore ! — truly  all 
is  vanity  and  presumption — I  had  placed  myself  between 
the  dove-eyed  devotee  of  Pleasure,  and  the  rosy  Hebe  of 
Mirth — I  had  thrown  the  softest  metal  into  contact  with 
the  "compound  blow-pipe,"  and  was  then  amazed  that  it 
should  melt.  I  had  already  consumed  eight  glasses  of 
"Negus" — I  was  now  upon  my  second  bottle  of  Sherry, 
and  all  creation  had  become  one  reservoir  of  Love — my 
humanity  had  expanded  itself  into  an  ocean  of  good  feel- 
ipg,  and  I  could  have  solicited  martyrdom  in  support  of 


40^ 


TTILD    OATS,  SOTTN  ABROAD. 


social  freedom — "  Goodred's  Saloon"  had  become  the  "  Por- 
tico" of  another  Athens,  and  I  listened  to  the  silvery  voice 
of  the  Enchantress,  until  mj  bewildered  senses  exclaimed, 
"Yes — this  is  indeed  Philosophy  !"  "Philosophy!"  cries 
the  Blonde — "It  is  more  than  Philosophy — it  is  rapture  l 
you  love  and  are  adored  !  you  enjoy  and  are  satiated ! 
you  take  the  Avings  of  the  morning  and  fly  with  new  de- 
sires to  new  objects — you  roll  on  the  wheels  of  sentiment 
over  the  pathway  of  life,  and  take  up  or  drop  a  passenger 
as  love  or  caprice  dictates" — 

"Not  forgetting  by  the  way  to  crush  a  host  of  matri- 
monial rovers,  as  Tarquinia  did  her  father  under  your 
chariots" — 

"  You  say  true — it  is  our  greatest  triumph — one  good 
husband  chained  to  our  car  outvalues  the  spoil  of  whole 
provinces — I  do  so  love  to  ride  by  Berkeley  square,  and 
show  my  jewelled  fingers  !" 

"  Does  Lady  H  live  in  Berkeley  Square  V 

"  Yes — in  the  season — T  can  never  forgive  that  Harriet 

Wilson  for  sparing  Lady  F  ;  she  was  a  little  fool — 

she  might  now  have  been  a  Marchioness,  instead  of  living 
a  pensioner  on  Argyle  and  the  rest  of  them.    The  Ville- 
bois  played  her  cards  better,  and  is  Lady  Langly.  How 
long  do  you  intend  to  stay  in  Paris  ?" 
"  Only  while  the  novelty  lasts — " 
"  Of  course  you  will  keep  a  French  mistress — " 
"  No,"  says  I,  "  that   is   a   superfluity  beyond  my 
means — " 

"  But  I  am  told  in  Paris  it  is  not  a  superfluity  but  a 
necessity — " 

"  The  mistress  is  doubtless  in  every  place  a  necessity, 
but  the  Iceepiyig  belongs  to  the  number  of  those  luxuries  we 
prefer  seeing  our  friends  indulge  in — besides  coin  destroys 
confidence  and  assassinates  sentiment." 


NOBLE  PLEA  FOR  MATKIMONT. 


41 


"  Shame  upon  jou  I  you  love  the  plant,  yet  will  not 
water  it  !" 

"Excuse  me,  my  dear,  your  conclusion  is  incorrect — I 
ha,ve  an  antipathy  to  all  purchases  of  tenderness,  and 
sliould  I  for  mere  safety  sake  consent  to  a  salaried  idol,  I 
should  surround  her  abode  with  man-traps,  and  every 
species  of  nocturnal  peril ;  I  should  then  crawl  upon  my 
hands  and  knees  about  these  dangerous  grounds,  and 
fondly  try  and  persuade  myself  into  the  sweet  deception 
that  I  was  approaching  another  man's  preserves — without 
this  precaution  I  should  be  miserably  discontented  with  the 
interview." 

"  What  an  absurd  idea !  You  only  like  a  woman  then 
in  proportion  to  the  difficulty  of  approach — why  not  ima- 
gine your  mistress  a  Paixhan  gun  at  once  !  You  men 
are  all  traitors  at  best — you  pursue  a  woman  with  the 
impetuosity  of  a  cataract,  and  when  yqu  have  dragged  her 
over  the  fall,  you  leave  her  to  the  eddies,  and  glide  calmly 
on  your  course  in  search  of  some  other  piece  of  feminine 
weakness  ;  and  yet  the  sole  difference  between  us  consists 
in  you  taking  the  head  and  we  the  heart  for  a  guide.  If 
nature  would  but  make  a  woman's  heart  and  head  accord, 
you  fortunate  unmarried  devils  would  soon  be  starved  into 
capitulating — as  it  is  we  are  divided  and  conquered — the 
head  makes  a  short  struggle,  to  win  the  heart  into  the 
confederacy  of  reason — but  the  little  fluttering,  wilful 
thing  goes  right  over  to  the  enemy,  and  is  then  the  first  to 
droop  and  faint  away  under  the  disgrace  of  its  own  defeat." 

"  But,"  says  I,  ''you  have  your  revenge  in  ruining  the 
health  and  the  resources  of  your  arch-fiend  !  and  then  there 
is  the  gratification  of  your  vanity  and  your  indolence  !" 

"  Poor  recompense,  that,  for  the  loss  of  affection  !  the 
lot  of  a  mistress  would  be  happy  enough  if  she  could 
retain  her  hold  upon  her  lover.    That  is  the  beauty  of 


42 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABKOAD. 


niatrimony  ;  the  law  effects  -what  woman  cannot — converts 
the  lover  into  the  husband — with  us  when  passion  dies — 
all  dies,  and  we  stand  like  the  survivors  of  plague- 
stricken  cities,  amid  ruin  and  hospitals." — There  was  ,a 
slight  sinking  of  the  voice  as  the  blue  eyed  creature 
finished  the  last  sentence,  and  I  looked  upon  her  beautiful 
face  with  the  half  intoxicated  worship  of  sincerity — there 
must  have  been  something  very  adoring  in  my  gaze,  for 
she  laughed  outright,  and  said,  "  No,  no,  you  cannoi  cheat 
me — that  look  might  have  done  its  work  some  three 
years  ago — but  now  I  am  a  very  Phoenix — I  can  bear  the 
furnace  of  love's  ardor,  without  scorching  one  feather  of 
the  wing  of  feeling.  I  don't  take  the  slighest  interest  in 
you — you  might  pay  your  court  for  months,  and  though 
you  might  prove  yourself  the  very  jewel  of  good  fellows,  I 
could  'whistle  you  off'  with  the  same  indifference  I  poui* 
this  water  in  this  wine." 

"  Yes,  and  I  should  probably  be  quite  as  diluted  as  that 
identical  liquor  by  that  time — but  seriously,  you  don't 
mean  to  say  that  I  should  sue  all  this  time  in  vain !  I  am 
not  prepared  to  find  a  Lucretia  in  a  being  so  full  of  kind 
impulses  as  yourself — you  would  yield  on  the  same  prin- 
ciple a  French  woman  does — not  on  your  own  account, 
but  out  of  pity  to  me."  She  looked  at  me  with  a  certain 
degree  of  fictitious  sterness  which  became  her  face  about 
as  much  as  a  scowl  would  a  cherub's,  and  replied,  dryly, 
*'  You  must  be  intoxicated." 

Positively  drunk,"  says  Captain  H  . 

No  wonder,"  chimed  in  my  dove-eyed  friend,  he  has 
entered  upon  his  third  bottle — it  is  time  to  think  of  moving 

— Capt  H  and  myself  have  exhausted  all  the  scandal 

of  the  town,  while  you  and  sister  Nell  have  been  bandying 
sentiment — come  on,  sir — I  desire  you  for  a  'morning 
gallopade' — We  will  drop  the  Captain  at  !Morley's,  and  as 


THE  LILY  ON  THE  SHOKE. 


43 


the  Marquis  is  no  doubt  feeling  very  solitary,  we  will 

hurry  Nell  to  Oxenden's  to  console  him." 

Strange  perverseness  of  human  nature  !  there  was  a  lily 
on  the  shore — -just  there — within  reach  of  my  hand  !  and 
yet  I  wanted  that  other  flower,  not  a  whit  the  prettier, 
floating  away  out  in  the  stream,  and  tossed  about  in  the 
current.  I  looked  upon  it,  and  as  I  looked  the  hue  seemed 
whiter — the  cup  more  swelling — the  hidden  fragrance  more 
delicious  !  I  closed  my  eyes,  and  lay  deep  sunk  in  the 
richly  cushioned  carriage — a  moment  !  there  came  the 
phantom  of  a  goodly  resolution — yes! — I  would  get  out  at 
Morley's — I  would  be  indisposed  and  virtuous  !  but  alas  ! 
there  was  a  devilish  pulpy  piece  of  flesh  and  blood  crushed 
up  against  my  unhappy  leg,  and  the  littlest  hand  in  the 
world  fell  passively  in  mine — Oh  !  this  infernal  poetry  of 
contact!  Was  it  Dove-Eye  or  the  Blonde?  I  knew  not 
— who  could  tell  ?  Was  it  not  dark,  and  was  not  my 
brain  confused?  and  my  wishes  warm,  and  my  resolves 
unsteady  ? — Methinks  I  slept — and  yet  I  do  remember  me 
of  a  long,  warm  kiss — a  pleasant  pressure  and  a  soft 
"good  night,"  and  the  laughing  Blonde  disappeared  in 
the  darkness  of  some  lofty  portal — and  then  came  another 
roll  of  the  carriage — another  dream  of  happy  lands  be- 
neath the  tropics — where  all  was  beauty,  and  the  heart 
did  waste  itself  in  mere  pursuit  of  joy — and  then  methinks 
I  woke  ?  Yes — I  did  wake — and  there  was  couch  and 
ottoman — crimson  and  blue — the  draped  glory  of  oriental 
luxury — I  turned,  surprised,  and  lo  !  a  face  glowing  with  a 
"  languor  which  was  not  repose" — but  oh  !  how  beautiful ! 
and  Pride  .whispered  to  my  penitent  spirit : — 

"The  liirht  that  led  astray 
Was  light  from  Heaven.'' 


London  is  indeed  a  fact.    There  is  a  frightful  reality  in 


44 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN"  ABROAD. 


every  thing  connected  with  it.  Yoa  read  of  strange 
things  in  books,  and  wonder  if  it  can  be  so ;  but  your  won- 
der ceases  when  you  have  "done  up"  London.  You  are 
confident  that  every  thing  can  and  does  happen  in  this 
grand  crucible  of  humanity  ;  the  hideous  and  the  lovely 
are  in  daily  contact ;  and  in  the  darkness  of  crime,  best- 
iality, and  starvation,  you  can  detect  here  and  there  the 
light  of  some  good  action,  the  result  of  affection,  or  a  true 
nobility  of  soul  which  no  external  blight  can  touch. — It  is 
the  little  taper  of  the  charnel-house,  lit  up  by  Innocence 
in  search  of  Love.  There  is  an  absence  of  all  social  feel- 
ing about  the  English  character,  which  is  truly  detestable. 
Among  their  own  clan  they  may  be  very  clever ;  but  woe 
betide  the  poor  stranger  who  dares  to  plant  his  foot  within 
the  sacred  circle  of  an  Englishman's  egotism.  His  mono- 
syllables chill  the  atmosphere  like  an  iceberg,  and  you 
can  almost  see  the  wine  freeze  as  it  passes  his  lips.  He 
will  sit  at  the  next,  or  even  the  same  table  with  you,  and, 
should  you  inadvertently  pass  him  a  dish,  or  let  fall  a 
remark,  he  will  look  at  you  with  a  sort  of  idiotic  stare, 
and  exclaim,  "  Oh  !  ah  !"  with  about  the  same  facility  as 
one  of  Maelzel's  semi-human  inventions.  You  may,  how- 
ever, console  yourself  for  this  anti-social  propensity,  with 
the  fact  that  an  Englishman  cannot  talk  with  that  desira- 
ble agreeability  necessary  to  a  stranger.  He  has  not  the 
gift,  and  when  you  do  take  the  trouble  of  inviting  an 
acquaintance,  and  the  party  finds  you  can  be  safely  talked 
to  without  his  losing  his  pocket  book  or  his  caste,  ten  to 
one  you  will  find  him  a  bore,  and  be  glad  to  step  out  of  his 
English  prejudices,  again  into  the  negative  enjoyment  of 
your  former  solitude.  There  is  an  arrogance  of  opinion 
and  national  conceit  about  them  which  sounds  harsh  to  my 
ear,  and  an  obliviousness  with  regard  to  certain  historical 
events  connected  with  our  progress,  which  makes  me 


ENGLISH  MOTHER  AND  AMERICAN  DAUGHTER.  45 


doubt  their  sanity  upon  that  particular  point.  That  they 
are  at  present  the  greatest  nation  on  the  earth  is  indis- 
putable, but  to  maintain  that  proud  position  requires  more 
vigor  and  less  confidence  than  they  possess.  The  next 
war  with  America  will  be  the  test  of  their  stability.  If 
they  come  out  of  it  victorious,  they  will  endure  for  ever. 
Xous  verrons." 

There  never  can  be  any  cordial  good  feeling  between 
England  and  America.  The  courtesies  of  the  press — the 
flattery  of  books — and  the  reciprocal  kindness  of  indivi- 
duals, can  be  fostered  and  indulged ;  but  to  bring  about  a 
general  amiability  of  the  two  nations,  is  impossible.  There 
is  such  a  bravado  spirit  and  pride  of  country  in  both  par- 
ties, that  they  must  naturally  provoke  each  other. — They 
may  kiss  and  lip-flatter  like  two  ball-room  beauties,  but 
they  are  "  too  knowing"  to  over-estimate  the  value  and 
strength  of  such  an  attachment.  The  warmer  the  kiss, 
the  deeper  and  more  enduring  the  dislike.  Interest,  prin- 
ciple, and  position,  drive  us  into  rivalry  and  hostility,  and 
the  loftier  the  flight  of  our  eagle,  the  deadlier  must  become 
the  monarchical  aim  of  England.  The  two  principles  can- 
not breathe  the  same  atmosphere  together.  They  poison 
each  other's  current,  and  the  strongest  constitution  has 
the  best  prospect  for  the  survivorship. 


LEAF  VI. 


Hotel  Meurice,  Paris. 
What  a  splendid  Blanchisseuse  is  that !    Never  was 
dirty  linen  consigned  to  fairer  hands.    If  Paris  can  boast 


46 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


a  dozen  women  as  handsome  as  that  washerwoman,  I  will 
consent  to  live  and  die  here.  What  a  terrible  wash-bill 
I  shall  have  if  that  creature  superintends  my  laundry  ! 
I  shall  wear  white  cravats  if  only  to  swell  the  list ;  but 
pshaw  !  this  is  all  French  cunning.  Handsome  agents  are 
the  decoys  of  trade — the  commercial  syrens  of  the  strange 
voyager.  I  must  open  a  safety-valve  for  my  sensibilities, 
or  I  shall  be  ruined  here.  I  am  worse  than  an  Innocent. 
I  would  throw  myself  under  the  first  Juggernaut  in  a  fit 
of  Idolatry  ! — but  then  I  am  a  little  bewildered.  I  am  in 
Paris.  "  Je  la  suis."  There  is  the  Tuilleries,  and  every 
thing  looks  as  yet  so  bizarre.  The  ^'  bon  jour"  and  the 
"  merci"  sound  so  excruciatingly  foreign — besides,  my 
"  moustache"  has  a  fair  field  now.  Don't  I  remember  the 
first  effort  at  college  ! — with  what  maternal  fondness  I 
coaxed  the  fibrous  attempt  to  assume  a  downy  attitude  ! 
and  with  what  feminine  grace  and  weakness  it  struggled 
into  hair  ! — and  crouched  upon  my  lip  in  the  shrinking  joy 
of  infancy  !  It  was  the  ugliest  child  I  ever  reared ; 
indeed,  the  only  decided  character  it  possessed  was  ugli- 
ness. The  faculty  watched  its  growth  in  stupified  amaze- 
ment— more  appalled  at  the  attempt  than  the  deed ;  and 
my  class-mates  put  on  a  shuddering  smile  as  they  looked 
upon  the  ferocious  sweetness  of  its  earlier  propensities. 
It  had  not  exactly  the  power  of  Medusa's  "  serpent 
brood,"  but  the  sensation  it  produced  was  immense ;  and 
the  moral  force  exorcised  by  each  "  particular  hair"  was 
tremendously  evident  in  the  lofty  carriage  of  its  owner. 
Poor  thing  I  how  surprised  it  would  be  to  mark  the  expan- 
sive fullness  of  its  successor  ! — yes,  I  may  without  vanity 
pronounce  my  existent  moustache  superb  I  and  I  shall  let 
it  flourish  in  undying  glory  until'my  return  to  the  fetter 
of  opinion.  Something  one  must  have  to  love,  and  as 
I  am  out  of  "humor  with  myself,"  I  will  concentrate  all 


THE  "MAID  OF  XORMANDIE." 


47 


my  tenderness  upon  the  physical  developement  of  tbia 
child  of  civilization  and  classic  fancy.  I  wonder  ho\y 
many  men  are  better  employed ! 

But  let  me  cut  my  moustache  short,  apd  return  to 
London,  thence  to  embark,  which  I  did,  from  London 
Bridge.  We  were  one  whole  day  steaming  down  that 
winding  and  filthy  Thames,  and  four  mortal  hours  cross- 
ing over  to  Boulogne.  The  channel  was  somewhat  rough, 
and  I  had  a  slight  touch  of  an  ocean  spasm,  but  I  soon 
paralyzed  the  movement  with  a  shocking  drench  of  raw 
brandy.  It  was  near  eleven  o'clock  at  night  when  we 
landed.  I  left  every  thing  to  the  commissionaire,"  and 
hastened  to  devour  my  first  French  meal.  It  was  faultless. 
What  a  change,  too,  from  the  dull,  saturnine  rigidness  of 
the  English  waiter  to  the  talkative,  white-aproned  "gargon" 
of  Normandy  !  My  long  lost  identity  returned,  and  I  felt 
crisp,  pert,  and  amiable.  I  mounted  to  my  chamber  with 
the  spirit  of  a  legatee  and  the  bound  of  a  bayadere ;  and 
it  was  some  moments  before  I  ascertained  that  I  had 
walked  into  the  darkness  of  an  uncandled  apartment.  I 
rang  for  a  servant.  Presently  I  heard  the  sound  of  a 
wooden  shoe  come  clattering  along,  and  the  tall  cap, 
prominent  hips,  and  roguish  face  of  a  "maid  of  Nor- 
mandie,"  made  its  appearance  with  napkins  and  candle. 
She  glided  into  the  room  with  the  air  of  a  "thorough- 
bred," and  as  I  scanned  the  poetry  of  her  motion,  I 
soliloquized  upon  the  fate  of  man  and  tho  loveliness  of 
woman.  She  lit  the  candle,  bustled  about,  and  disappeared 
with  the  same  indefinable  ease  of  manner.  I  soliloquized 
on,  and  scarcely  heard  her  parting  salutation.  I  do  not 
know  whether  I  did  ring  or  not — that  is  a  question  which 
in  all  probability  will  never  be  accurately  settled.  But 
certainly  my  door  was  again  opened,  and  the  identical 
pair  of  lips,  cap  and  face  appeared. 


48 


WILD   OATS,  SOWX  ABROAD. 


"Did  Monsieur  ring?" 
"No!" 

"  Does  Monsieur  want  any  warm  water  ?" 
"  No  !  my  dear  !" 

"What  does  Monsieur  want ?"  with  a  strong  emphasis 
and  a  most  inviting  smile. 

I  hesitated.  It  was  a  trying  scene.  My  fingers  itched 
for  a  hold  upon  her  waist — for,  be  it  remembered,  she  was 
the  first  of  an  unknown  series,  and  I  was  dying  for  an 
essay  upon  Gallic  coquetry ;  but  the  idea  of  commencing 
it  with  a  mere  chambermaid,  when  a  duchess  was  antici- 
pated, the  decision  was  made,  and  I  dryly  replied — ■ 

"  Monsieur  wants  nothing  just  at  present ;  but  don't 
forget  me  in  the  morning." 

"  Ouiy  says  Normandie,  and  each  clack  of  her  pretty 
foot  as  she  walked  along  the  corridor  sent  a  pang  through 
my  heart.  True,  I  had  acted  like  a  Scipio,  but  I  felt  like 
Anthony.  I  was  proud  in  my  strength,  yet  could  not  but 
sigh  over  my  victory,  and  I  buried  my  head  in  my  pillow 
with  rather  a  drowsy  curse  on  frailty. 

The  diligence  started  at  eleven  next  morning.  We 
dined  at  Abbeville,  and  reached  Paris  at  one  o'clock  the 
following  day.  I  had  plenty  of  time  to  collect  my  half- 
forgotten  fragments  of  Gallic  speech,  and  found  to  my 
entire  satisfaction  that  I  knew  precious  little  of  the  lan- 
guage. But  what  does  a  man  want  with  words  when  he 
has  eyes  and  hands  ?  I  staggered  through  the  different 
articles  of  speech  as  a  drunken  man  would  make  his 
way  through  crockery.  I  slipped  over  an  article  here 
and  there,  and  broke  a  sentence  into  the  smallest  pieces, 
when  I  could  not  entirely  clear  it. 

We  had  a  small  dash  of  the  pathetic  on  our  route.  An 
old  soldier,  with  the  "  Cordon  rouge,"  bidding  adieu  to 
some  Parissienne,  who  had  doubtless  been  gilding  the 


AN  AFFECTING  SCENE. 


49 


winter  of  his  provincial  discontent — it  was  extremely 
affecting.  He  took  her  hand  with  a  tenderness  not  often 
exhibited  by  martial  men,  and  kissed  her  cheeks  with  a 
paternal  dignity  which  would  have  removed  even  the  sting 
from  jealousy.  A  tear  stood  in  her  eye  as  she  whispered, 
"Adieu,  mon  ami!"  And  yet  the  rattle  of  our  diligence 
had  scarcely  died  away  upon  the  ear  of  her  disconsolate 
friend,  before  she  was  ancle  deep  in  a  flirtation  with  her 
"  vis-a-vis  f 

Such  is  Parisian  lightness  of  heart.  The  tear  of  sadness 
scarcely  parts  from  the  eye-lids  before  it  is  lost  in  the 
channel  of  a  smile. 

The  Abbey  of  St.  Denis  was  the  first  French  ''lion"  I 
had  the  pleasure  of  beholding.  And  now  for  the  winter 
campaign  !  Plenty  of  time,  money,  health — which  way 
shall  I  turn  ?  Shall  I  rush  into  the  Faubourgs,  and  live 
hand  and  glove  with  the  students,  the  Macaires,  the  loafers  ? 
Shall  I  patronize  a  "grisette,"  or  abandon  myself  to  the 
pleasures  of  the  world  among  the  "haut  volee?"  What 
shall  I  do  ?  Shall  I  enlarge  my  understanding  and  ex- 
haust my  resources — or  shall  I  pass  my  time  morally, 
usefully,  studiously  ? — be  an  example  of  youthful  gravity, 
or  dwell  a  little  longer  in  the  vapors  of  mischief  and  folly  ? 
How  easy  for  a  man  of  sound  judgment  to  choose  the 
proper  path !  I  vow  by  the  finger  of  King  John,  that  in 
two  years  from  this  date,  18 — ,  I  will  bo  wise,  virtuous, 
and  happy — but  in  the  mean  time  ?  Well,  in  the  mean 
time !  What  ?  Why,  I  will  grovel  in  the  "  epicurean 
sty!"  I  will  be  a  miniature  edition  of  Sardanapalus  I 
"Who's  afear'd?" 


5 


50 


"WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


*'  FAUBOURG  ST.  GERMAIN." 

I  am  in  the  old  aristocratic  quarter  of  St.  Germain — 
redolent  with  the  dying  perfume  of  the  "  Ancien  regime," 
and  honored  by  the  presence  of  the  "Academic"  and  the 
"  Sorbonne."  Medicine  and  law  reign  supreme  (always 
excepting  the  gens-d'arms,)  over  this  section  of  Paris. 
The  dissecting  knife  and  the  "Code  Fran^ais"  are  the 
emblems  of  fraternit}^,  and  a  billiard  cue  the  "  telegraphic 
conductor"  of  familiarity.  Here  I  have  acquired  a  glim- 
mering knowledge  of  the  peculiar  social  arrangement  of 
this  community.  The  students  are  the  Bedouins  of  Paris. 
They  wander  about  the  "Latin  quartier"  without  and 
fixed  idea  or  ostensible  means  of  subsistence — their  whole 
available  property  being  confined  to  a  Greek  cap  and  a 
female  companion.  With  these  they  manage  to  smoke 
through  a  certain  period  of  time,  and  then  flit  upon  the 
wings  of  a  diploma,  the  Lord  knows  where — their  place 
being  instantly  supplied  by  fresh  hordes. 

The  French  women  cannot  be  called  handsome.  They 
are  flippant,  heartless,  and  affected.  Their  mouth  is  full 
of  point  and  sentiment,  and  they  can  smile,  weep,  faint 
and  hystericise  to  perfection ;  but  it  is  all  sham  !  Every 
thing  with  them  is  for  eficct.  They  speak,  dress,  act,  with 
this  one  view,  and  it  must  be  confessed  they  do  it  with 
astonishing  tact.  The  sincerity  of  a  French  woman 
scarcely  survives  her  childhood.  They  are  perfect  slaves 
to  "eclat,"  and  will  sacrifice  health,  comfort,  consistency, 
feeling,  principle,  itself  for  mere  brilliancy.  Let  a  French 
woman  but  sparkle — let  the  Parisian  world  admit  that 
she  sparkles,  and  it  is  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference  to 
her  what  defects  of  character  may  cloud  her  glory  in  the 
eyes  of  the  good.    Their  loftiest  idea  of  woman's  position 


"PARIS  EST  UN  ARTIST." 


51 


and  destiny  is  to  please,  and  of  course  the  only  qualifica- 
tions necessary  are  the  graces  of  mien  and  politeness  of 
manners.  Beyond  this  they  don't  pretend  to  look.  They 
have  but  one  instinct,  and  that  is  Love — not  as  an  enno- 
bling, purifying  feeling,  but  as  a  pleasure  and  a  pastime, 
•which  may  change  its  object  and  be  unfettered  by  any  of 
the  sober  principles  of  morality  and  reason.  There  is  one 
virtue  which  they  possess  in  an  eminent  degree  :  they 
never  conceal  their  caprice  or  their  vanity.  They  even 
disdain  to  conceal  their  art.  Most  other  women  are  mere 
Bible  definitions  of  faith — "the  evidence  of  things  not 
seen."  It  is  one  constant  struggle  at  concealment,  and 
she  who  bears  her  mask  closest  carries  the  palm.  A 
French  woman  cares  very  little  about  your  having  a  per- 
fect knowledge  of  the  details  of  her  toilet,  provided  the 
"tout  ensemble"  gratifies  your  eye.  Beauty  of  outline  is 
her  ambition,  and  she  will  laugh  with  you  at  the  oddness 
of  "filling  up." 

A  French  woman  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  connoisseur 
does  a  painting — the  style,  the  school,  the  details,  the 
grouping,  coloring,  and  efi'ect,  must  all  mingle  in  one 
harmonious  view.  There  is  supposed  to  be  a  great  dis- 
tinction between  the  native  and  the  imported  "Parisi- 
enne."  The  provinces  send  an  annual  supply  of  the 
latter  into  the  metropolis.  They  have  more  heart  and 
less  elegance.  Their  feelings  are  not  polished  to  that 
transparent  hue  which  looks  so  beautiful,  yet  is  so  false  in 
the  native.  Some  one  says  :  "  On  nait  Parisienne,  comme 
on  nait  poete  ou  rotisseur,  la  coquetterie  developpe,  mais 
ne  cree  pas.  Paris  n'invente  pas;  il  perfectionne.  Le 
monde  lui  envoie  des  blocs  de  marbre;  il  en  fait  des 
statues.  Paris  est  un  artist."  A  French  woman  has 
but  one  solitary  observance,  and  that  is  "form."  This 
duly  gone  through,  all  else  i3  nought.    In  the  dominion 


52 


AVILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


of  Fashion,  with  her,  Paris  is  the  only  true  church — all 
beyond  is  heretical  ground.  In  her  manner  and  locomo- 
tion she  is  charming.  She  neither  strides,  nor  minces,  nor 
■vralks ;  but  she  rather  undulates — a  sort  of  snaky  motion 
— perhaps  it  is  the  remnant  of  the  old  serpent.  There  is 
only  one  misfortune  which  can  compel  her  to  leave  Paris, 
and  that  is  the  loss  of  her  beauty.  It  is  impossible  not  to 
admire  them ;  but  how  an  American  could  seriously  marry 
one  of  them,  is  incomprehensible  to  me.  A  French  hus- 
band is  a  mere  symbol.  You  hear  speak  of  him,  but  you 
don't  see  him.  He  is  no  obstacle  in  any  of  his  wife's 
arrangements ;  she  appears  to  be  the  absorbing  party,  and 
if  there  is  any  personal  identity  lost  in  the  contract,  it  most 
assuredly  is  his.  I  don't  believe  a  French  woman  ever 
really  loves  ;  she  only  selects  ;  and  in  a  matrimonial  sense, 
if  she  ever  adores,  it  is  the  superfluities.  They  are  as 
necessary  to  her  as  flowers  to  the  butterfly.  It  is  not  to 
be  supposed  that  there  are  no  exceptions  to  these  general 
principles;  but  there  is  an  atmosphere  of  frivolity  and 
looseness  about  this  whole  town  which  must,  in  a  greater 
or  less  degree,  contaminate  the  moral  constitution  of  all  its 
inhabitants.  I  don't  imagine  that  the  aggregate  of  wicked- 
ness rises  much  higher  than  in  other  places ;  but  it  is  more 
openly  patronized.  The  French  go  on  the  principle  that 
when  a  man  sees  a  woman's  foot  and  ankle,  his  imagina- 
tion naturally  sees  more,  and  they  show  the  leg  at  once. 
You  see  the  worst  features  of  Paris  at  a  blush.  Vice 
stands  unveiled,  and  the  social  system,  like  an  ostrich, 
hides  but  a  small  portion  of  its  carcase  in  the  decencies  of 
life,  and  leaves  the  rest  uncovered.  Suicide,  foundling 
hospitals,  &c.,  form  strong  features  in  a  first  glance  at 
Paris.    But  one  soon  gets  used  to  it. 


THE  GUILLOTINE. 


53 


LEAF  VII 

AN  EXECUTION  BY  GUILLOTINE. 

Paris,  18—. 

In  visiting  the  guillotine,  some  months  since,  I  had  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  witness  an  execution,  should  any  take 
place  during  my  stay  in  Paris.  I  had  almost  forgotten 
the  circumstance,  when  last  night  I  received  a  very  polite 
invitation  from  Monsieur  Henri  to  be  present  this  morning 
whilst  he  performed  his  duty  upon  some.unfortunate  victim, 
whose  organ  of  destructiveness  had  led  him  to  knock  out 
the  brains  of  one  of  his  fellow  creatures  with  a  hammer. 

Executions  in  Paris,  considering  the  population,  are 
quite  rare,  and  always  take  place  early  in  the  morning, 
without  any  previous  announcement.  The  criminal  him- 
self is  only  informed  of  the  hour  the  night  before.  All 
this  precaution  is  intended  to  prevent  a  crowd,  and  also  to 
avoid  whetting  the  appetite  of  the  people  Avith  the  sight 
of  the  Guillotine  in  play.  It  is  generally  erected  after 
midnight,  so  that  few,  except  those  in  the  immediate  neigh- 
borhood, can  have  time  to  congregate  between  daylight 
and  the  moment  of  execution. 

Eight  o'clock  was  the  hour  appointed,  and  we  were  ad- 
vised to  be  there  in  season,  as  the  government  is  very 
punctual  in  its  performances.  It  was  hardly  daylight  when 
we  reached  the  Barrier  of  the  Rue  St.  Jacques.  We  found 
but  few  persons  there.  A  small  body  of  mounted  muni- 
cipal guards  formed  the  inner  circle  round  the  spot ;  im- 
mediately behind  these  wxre  stationed  some  grenadiers, 
three  or  four  paces  apart.  The  majority  of  lookers-on  ap- 
peared to  be  soldiers  olF  duty,  and  the  ubiquitous  "  gamins" 


54  WILD  OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 

of  the  Faubourg.  We,  as  invited  guests  of  the  execu- 
tioner, were  conducted.^^'nto  the  smaller  circle,  and  placed 
only  a  few  yards  from  the  instrument  of  death.  The  plat- 
form of  the  guillotine  had  a  railing,  and  was  rather  higher 
than  I  had  expected,  there  being  some  eight  or  ten  steps 
to  mount,  so  that  the  execution  may  be  seen  some  distance 
off.  The  guillotine  itself  is  a  very  simple  contrivance — 
nothing  but  two  perpendicular  shafts  about  eighteen  inches 
apart,  and  some  15  or  20  feet  high.  Between  them,  near 
the  top,  the  axe,  or  knife,  is  held  suspended  by  a  spring, 
which  being  touched,  it  descends  rapidly  along  the  grooves 
in  the  sides  of  the  shafts.  The  axe  is  triangularly  shaped, 
and  leaded  at  the  .top,  so  as  to  run  swiftly  and  forcibly. 
At  the  lower  part  of  these  shafts  is  a  wooden  collar  to  fit 
the  neck.  The  victim  stands  erect,  a  short  distance  off,  on 
a  foot-board,  which  reaches  up  to  his  breast.  This  board 
has  straps  attached  for  binding  the  party,  in  case  he  should 
prove  unruly,  and  turns  upon  a  pivot  in  the  centre,  so  that 
fche  executioner  merely  raises  up  the  lower  end  of  the  board 
— ^it  immediately  brings  the  man  into  a  horizontal  position, 
with  his  neck  in  the  collar — the  spring  is  at  the  same  time 
touched  and  the  knife  falls — a  box  receives  the  head,  and 
a  long  basket,  which  runs  parellel  with  the  victim,  receives 
the  trunk. 

While  we  were  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  principal  per- 
sonage in  the  drama,  we  overheard  one  of  the  guards 
giving  an  account  of  the  execution  of  Fiesche,  of  "  in- 
fernal machine"  mem.ory.  I  asked,  him  hoAV  many  execu- 
tions he  had  witnessed.  He  did  not  recollect;  but  he 
said  that  he  had  seen  eleven  persons  executed  in  fourteen 
minutes.  At  the  time  I  could  not  credit  this  assertion, 
but  I  soon  had  evidence  of  the  possibility  of  the  fact. 
Early  as  it  was,  the  crowd  began  to  increase  rapidly.  They 
laughed  and  joked  together  as  though  it  was  a  farce  instead 


GIVE  US  ANOTIIEE." 


55 


of  a  tragedy  they  were  about  to  witness.  There  was  quite 
a  ludicrous  dispute  kept  up  for  some  time  between  the  occu- 
pants of  sundry  trees,  near  the  qene  of  action,  and  the 
''gens  d'arms,"  who  insisted  on  their  vacating  this  leafy 
eminence.  Plenty  of  witticisms  were  bandied  about  as  these 
ragged  climbers  scrambled  away  from  the  points  of  the 
bayonets.  Nothing  can  dampen  a  Frenchman's  animal 
spirits. 

The  prisoner  came  in  a  close  carriage  with  the  execu- 
tioner. He  alighted,  and  paused  a  moment  at  the  foot  of 
the  steps  to  speak  to  his  confessor.  He  was  a  young  man, 
stout,  but  small  sized,  and  dressed  in  the  blue  "blouse"  of 
a  laborer.  His  face  was  pale  as  death,  and  his  step  some- 
what unsteady.  He  had  probably  never  seen  the  guillo- 
tine, for  his  eye  ran  over  the  instrument,  and  at  last 
settled  with  a  stare  upon  the  glittering  knife,  which  had 
just  caught  the  first  rays  of  the  morning  sun.  There  must 
have  been  one  dreadful  concentration  of  agony  as  that 
poor  fellow's  imagination  shaped  the  fatal  process.  The 
mere  sliver  of  the  knife  is  nothing ;  but  who  can  paint 
that  one  instant  of  consciousness  as  the  first  noise  of  its 
descent  strikes  his  ear — before  its  cold  edge  passes  with 
the  crushing  weight  of  eternity  to  its  fearful  goal.  He 
had  scarcely  mounted  the  scaffold,  and  plnced  himself  upon 
the  foot-board,  before  the  executioner  had  stripped  him  to 
the  waist,  and  pushed  him  gently  forward.  His  feet  rose 
with  the  motion  of  the  board,  and  there  ho  lay,  perfectly 
horizontal,  with  his  face  downwards  and  his  neck  in  the 
collar.  The  knife  came  with  a  whizzing  sound — the  head 
jumped  forward — the  trunk  quivered  convulsively,  but  was 
instantly  rolled  into  the  basket,  and  every  trace  of  that 
unfortunate  man  disappeared  from  sight,  save  the  "  gouts" 
of  blood  upon  the  knife  ! 

I  could  scarcely  believe  my  own  eyes  !    Was  it  possible 


56 


WILD  OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


that  life  had  been  taken  ?  But  a  moment  since,  I  had 
seen  that  man  step  out  of  the  carriage  :  and  now  he  was 
gone — vanished — dead  !  It  was  the  quickness  of  thought 
— hardly  time  for  an  emotion.  His  rapid  transit  from  the 
carriage  to  his  wicker  coffin  forbade  even  sympathy.  He 
passed  away  like  a  shadow — almost  too  quick  for  the  exer- 
cise of  vision.  No  evidence  of  violence— no  struggle — no 
torture — no  apparent  agony — no  lifeless  body — no  distorted 
features,  to  brand  their  hideous  impression  upon  the  spec- 
tator. With  the  exception  of  a  cold  shiver  as  the  heavy 
jar  of  the  knife  broke  the  painful  silence,  there  was  no 
other  feeling  produced  in  me  during  the  execution,  and 
that,  too,  was  momentary.  I  had  nerved  myself  for  hor- 
ror, and  there  was  not  enough  to  shock  the  most  sensitive. 

The  guillotine — that  name  of  terror,  which  has  sounded 
the  shame  of  France  in  every  quarter  of  the  globe — ap- 
peared to  me  the  most  humane  of  instruments.  We  all 
looked  at  each  other  as  if  there  ought  to  be  more  :  there 
was  an  unsated  something,  which  almost  amounted  to  a 
desire  for  another  victim,  as  if  the  appetite  increased  by 
what  it  fed  upon."  We  could  partly  account  for  the  calm 
indifference  with  which  man  after  man  was  sent  to  the  em- 
brace of  this  infernal  machine  during  the  period  of  the 
first  Revolution.  There  is  a  neatness — a  despatch — a  cold- 
blooded apathy  about  the  whole  affair — that  deceives  a 
man  into  the  belief  that  all  is  mere  machinery.  It  only 
wants  the  aid  of  steam  to  make  it  perfect.  There  is  no 
realizing  sense  of  violence — and  one  almost  doubts  whether 
the  victim  be  a  man  of  straw,  or  real  flesh  and  blood.  It 
would  have  sounded  very  natural  to  hear  the  crowd  cry 
out — "  Give  us  another  !  and  let  it  be  done  slower  so  that 
we  may  see."  I  am  by  no  means  bloodthirsty,  and  yet  I 
fear  I  should  have  joined  in. 

The  executioner  was  a  very  benevolent  looking  indi- 


POST  MORTEM  REFLECTIONS. 


57 


vidual,  with  a  soft,  sleepy  eye,  and  a  certain  quiet,  gentle- 
manly manner,  that  was  quite  insinuating.  He  handed 
the  criminal  up  the  platform  with  the  polished  grace  of 
the  ancient  regime,  and  no  doubt  begged  his  pardon  as  he 
removed  the  poor  fellow's  cap. 

After  the  execution,  water  was  thrown  upon  the  instru- 
ment. The  head  was  thrown  into  the  same  basket  with 
the  trunk,  and  both  handed  over  to  the  dissecting  knife. 
I  noticed  two  drummers  stationed  near  the  scaffold — 
intended,  perhaps,  to  drown  the  voice  of  the  party  in  case 
he  should  address  the  crowd.  It  was  thus  Henriot  stopped 
Louis  XVI.  when  he  attempted  to  speak. 

I  aftervv'ard  went  to  the  Ecole  Pratique  to  see  the  re- 
mains. The  neck  had  been  very  smoothly  severed,  about  the 
third  vertebra.  The. expression  of  the  face  was  remarka- 
ble :  not  the  least  +race  of  pain — not  the  slightest  distor- 
tion of  feature ;  but  there  was  a  settled  sorrow — an  in- 
tense sadness — about  every  line  of  that  pallid  visage.  It 
had  more  the  appearance  of  deep  sleep  than  death — the 
sleep  that  follows  mental  exhaustion.  We  were  satisfied 
that  -no  muscular  action  could  have  taken  place  after  the 
blow — and  as  to  the  blush  which  is  said  to  have  suffused 
the  face  of  Charlotte  Corday  when  the  executioner  held  up 
the  severed  head,  and  slapped  her  cheek,  it  is  all  absurdity 
— French  nonsense.  Yet,  for  mere  supposition  sake,  if  a 
person  could  feel  conscious  for  a  second  or  two  after 
decapitation,  and  be  aware  of  one's  mutilated  condition, 
'iiow  excessively  awkward  must  be  the  sensation  !  one  must 
feel  a  sort  of  "  divided  duty" — a  two-fold  existence — like 
a  broken  series  of  equations.  Yet  it  must  be  a  moment 
of  refreshing  intellectual  energy — cut  off  from  the  earthy 
part — the  vile  body: — grand  subject  for  speculation! — 
AVhy  don't  somebody  give  us  "  The  Reflections  of  a  De- 
capitated Man?"  If  it  turned  out  stupid,  he  might  excuse 
Idraself  for  want  of  head. 


68 


AYJLn    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


LEAF  VIII. 

CRITICISM— "TEMPUS  FUGIT." 

Paris,  18—. 

I  KNOW  nothing  about  painting  or  sculpture.  I  am  try- 
ing to  get  an  idea  or  two  from  books — but  it  is  slow  work. 
I  never  did  liKe  fixed  rules — the  erratic  has  too  great  a 
charm  for  me,  and  when  I  stroll  through  the  galleries  of 
the  Louvre,  I  invariably  find  myself  admiring  some  out- 
lawed effort  of  genius,  which  the  arbitrary  taste  of  the 
connoisseur  has  criticised  down  to  the  marshy  district  of 
mediocrity.  There  must  be  some  radical  defect  in  my 
ideas  of  the  beautiful  in  art.  A  cloud  of  ignorance  is 
brooding  over  me.  My  knowledge  of  the  divine  art  is 
like  an  alderman's  law — ^just  deep  enough  to  lead  me  into 
error,  and  I  shrink  back  at  the  labor  of  acquiring  more. 
My  eye  is  corrupt,  and  carries  away  my  judgment  at 
every  view  of  the  original  and  striking,  without  any  regard 
for  the  excellent.  There  is  no  doubt  a  great  deal  of  non- 
sense perpetrated  in  the  shape  of  artistical  criticism.  The 
cant  terms  of  "tone,"  "warmth,"  "rapidity,"  "soul," 
and  a  thousand  other  quackeries,  which  pictures  are  be- 
dazzled with,  can  only  be  enjoyed  by  the  initiated.  My 
weak  vision  recognizes  but  few  points  in  this  wide  field  of 
canvas-gazing — the  close  imitation  of  the  natural,  and  the 
natural  idealized ;  in  the  first,  the  artist's  excellence  lies 
in  his  choice — his  coloring — his  correctness  of  outline,  and 
his  arrangement  of  the  subject ; — in  the  last  lie  all  the 
others  with  the  boundless  tract  of  poetry  and  invention 
superadded.    Farther  than  this  T  cannot  follow — my  plcbc- 


FASHIONABLE  CRITICISM. 


59 


ian  foot  falters — the  deep  design — the  far-reaching  allegory 
— the  thoughtful  mysticism — that  shadowing  forth  of  a  tran- 
scendental something  which  the  connoisseur  detects  in  pic- 
tures, is  vaguely  shrouded  from  my  unskilful  gaze.  The 
filmy  cataract  has  not  yet  yielded  to  the  touch  of  the  picto- 
rial oculist.  Whether  my  Italian  travel  that  is  to  be,  will 
give  me  this  "mystical  lore"  is  more  than  I  can  venture 
to  assert.  Those  elaborate  criticisms  which  I  have  waded 
through,  have  much  of  the  character  of  Homeric  notes. 
They  would  make  the  "blind  old  man"  wonder  at  all  he 
knew,  and  puzzle  him  not  a  little  to  understand  the  full 
bearing  of  his  own  text — and  the  old  painters  would  be  in 
the  same  predicament  to  discern  the  true  character  of 
their  designs.  The  highest  order  of  these  great  artists 
painted  as  they  dreamed — no  more — the  grace,  beauty, 
and  loveliness  of  expression  which  a  Raffaelle,  a  Correggio, 
or  a  Guido,  have  immortalized  in  their  Madonnas,  their 
Magdalens,  and  their  Heathen  Divinities,  are  but  the 
idealities  which  visit  all  in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  but 
which  the  gifted  few  alone  have  the  power  to  substantiate 
— to  summon  from  their  floating,  varying  evanescence  of 
shadow,  into  form  and  permanency.  Why  ask  for  more  ? 
Why  sublimate  upon  the  etherial  texture  of  their  minds, 
and  insist  upon  their  having  dreamed  more  than  dreams, 
and  seen  more  than  visions  ?  There  is  scarcely  any  would- 
be  critical  description  or  analysis  of  a  picture  which  does 
not  describe  more  than  the  painter  intended,  and  fre- 
quently ascribes  causes  for  their  grand  effects,  which  he 
distinguishes  at  once,  but  which  the  painter  did  not  aim 
at.  I  must  content  myself  with  the  negative  enjoyment 
of  admiring  these  things  without  understanding  their 
deeper  mysteries,  or  I  shall  lose  myself  in  the  pictorial 
kantism  of  the  day.  At  present  I  see  in  Raffaelle  the 
most  beautiful  of  all  creators ;  in  Correggio  the  most 


/ 


60  TVILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 

attractive ;  in  Guido,  all  that  is  silvery  and  soft.  Of 
Angelo,  of  Dominicliino,  of  Da  Yinci,  of  Del  Sarto,  and 
the  Caracci,  I  have  seen  nothing. — In  Salvator  I  have 
no  diiSculty  to  mark  the  gloomy ;  in  Rembrandt,  the  dig- 
nified; in  "Van  Dyke  the  polished,  and  in  Reubens  the 
coarse,  clumsy,  flashy,  and  dashing  spirit  of  self-confidence 
and  genius.  It  is  rather  amusing  for  an  American  whose 
knowledge  of  this  art  is  confined  to  the  elaborate  produc- 
tions of  his  Primer  book,  and  the  frontispiece  of  fashion- 
able magazines,  to  be  passing  judgment  upon  the  master- 
pieces of  all  time — but  then  it  is  so  pleasant  to  get  up  an  ^ 
opinion  of  one's  own,  though  it  be  of  the  inverted  pyra- 
midical  order,  and  to  spin  it  round  and  buzz  it  in  every 
body's  ears,  until  it  sinks  to  sleep  like  any  other  school- 
boy's top.  Descartes'  evidence  of  existence  should  have 
extended  to  the  possession  of  an  opinion — with  many  men 
it  is  their  sole  property,  and  they  do  exercise  the  right  of 
ownership  most  distinctly  and  exclusively.  What  a  happy 
state  matrimony  would  be  if  a  man  in  absorbing  the  iden- 
tity of  his  wife,  could  also  absorb  her  opinions  !  In  the 
present  stage  of  civilization  it  is  very  clear  that  one's 
opinions  of  things  is  reduced  to  a  science ;  but  one's 
opinion  of  persons  is  still  an  instinct,  and  one's  opinion  of 
one's  own  dear  self  is  indisputably  a  religion  which  would 
tire  and  faggot  every  disbeliever ; — but  where  are  we  wan- 
dering to  ?  "  Come  back,  ye  mental  brats,"  as  Nelly 
Gwinn  once  called  her  royal  bastards. 

"  Tempiis  fugit.'"  I  quote  that  to  convince  myself  of  a 
rather  dubious  fact :  my  estimable  parent  did  give  me  a 
classical  education,  but  I  can  only  realize  its  intense 
absurdity  when  I  venture  to  make  use  of  it.  "  Tempus 
fugit"  is  a  Latin  quotation.  ''Yes,"  says  the  witling, 
"but  it  would  hardly  require  great  ability  to  reach  a 


WHISKEY  PUNCH  AND  LOGIC.  61 


complete  knowledge  of  said  quotation  without  ever  entering 
the  walls  of  a  college."  Yes,  child,  but  there  is  no 
philosophy  in  that  remark.  JSTo  man  ever  did  or  ever  can 
know  the  full  force  of  "  Tempus  fugit,"  that  did  not  learn 
it  from  a  collegiate  tutor ;  besides,  I  don't  want  to  argue 
the  point ;  I  only  deal  in  iissertion — and  I  assert  most 
positively  that  ^'  Tempus  fugit"  recalls  more  vividly  the 
remembrance  of  a  classical  education  than  any  other  piece 
of  Latinity  in  the  whole  range  of  Ernesti.  Just  think  of 
swamping  four  years  in  hot  whiskey  punch  and  logic — 
then  graduating  m  white  kid  gloves  and  raven  outlines, 
with  a  ruined  constitution  and  a  vast  amount  of  elegant 
encumbrances ! — then  step  over  here  and  begin  to  wonder 
whether  it  w^ould  not  have  been  more  to  the  purpose  to 
waste  the  aforesaid  years  in  hunting  down  French  and 
German  idioms ;  then  have  the  climax  capped  by  a  pretty 
French  woman  quizzing  you  unmercifully  with  the  equi- 
voques of  her  language,  and  truly  one  is  forced  to  ejaculate 
most  mournfully,  "  Tempus  fugit."  The  faded  beauty  is 
not  more  vexed  at  the  truth  of  her  mirror  than  I  have 
been  at  the  retrospect  of  hours  consumed  over  Greek 
hexameters,  and  airy  triangles.  How  fortunate,  after  all, 
were  those  who  fell  by  the  way-side;  martyrs  to  conic 
sections !  or  victims  to  their  philosophical  indifference 
of  "form."  I  have  been  led  into  this  current  lately 
by  being  obliged  to  devote  two  hours  every  morning 
to  my  French  tutor.  It  is  deplorable;  I  came  in  pur- 
suit of  pleasure,  and  behold !  the  curse  of  labor  still 
follows  me !  This  life  here — indeed,  life  in  any  place, 
with  a  sufficiency  of  gotd,  is  excessively  agreeable. 
Breakfast  at  eleven  in  slippers  and  study-gown — two 
hours  to  the  tutorship  and  toilet — a  game  of  billiards 
now  is  refreshing.  You  may  then  throw  yourself  ago- 
nizingly upon  the  Boulevards,  and  expire  gracefully  in 

6 


G2 


TVILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


a  social  prattle  with  the  presiding  divinity  of  the  "  Cafe 
Lemblin;"  her  "  cau  de  vie,"  mantled  with  a  smile, 
will  soon  revive  your  pleasurable  exhaustion,  and  you 
can  then  indulge  yourself  an  hour  or  two  at  the  intel- 
lectual banquet  of  Barthelemy,  Saint  Hilaire  or  Adam 
Mickiewiez  or  Royer  Collard — or  if  in  a  slaughtering 
mood,  you  can  criticise  the  operations  of  Roux  or 
Yalpeau.  Then  comes  a  constitutional  walk  free  from 
flirtation  or  viciousness  of  any  kind.  In  this  walk  I 
never  execute  the  most  abandoned  worshipper.  I  even 
deny  myself  the  subdued  emotion  of  a  new  and  most 
decided  conquest.  I  sacrifice  myself  entirely  to  the 
gastric  juices :  it  is  the  mere  man-machine  in  search 
of  appetite.  By  six,  destiny  has  fixed  upon  your 
dinner.  This  should  be  a  "filet  de  boeuf,"  with  Madeira 
sauce — a  bottle  of  Chambertin  or  Clos  Yaugeos,  and 
whatever  else  your  purse  will  sanction.  The  opera 
then  unfolds  her  velvet  doors  and  the  voices  of  "cher- 
ubim and  seraphim"  hover  around  you;  yes,  Paris  is 
quite  plastic — you  can  make  it  take  what  shape  you 
please,  always  provided  you  "put  money  in  your  purse." 
Gold  is  the  Glendower  that  evokes  the  spirits  from 
this  vasty  deep.  On  Tuesday  night  you  have  the 
Prado.  On  Wednesday,  the  Rue  St.  Honore;  on 
Thursday,  the  Salle  Victoire,  and  so  on  until  the 
end  of  the  chapter.  These  dancing  saloons  are  full 
of  life — here  you  see  the  lorette,  the  grisette,  the 
blanchisseuse,  the  student,  and  the  stranger;  here  the 
famous  "Queen  Pomare"  and  the  dark-eyed  "Waltzer 
of  the  Prado,"  shower  their  fkvors  upon  suitors  seared 
and  dry  as  "Autumnal  leaves  in  Yallombrosa ;"  here 
flourishes  that  seductive  waltz  which  Potiphar's  wife 
should  have  taught  Joseph,  and  thus  destroyed  the 
moral  of  her  tale.      Poor  Mrs.  Potiphar !   where  was 


SHYLOCK  ASKS  FOR  JUSTICE! 


63 


your  tact?  Here  that  great  National  dance,  the 
"  Cancan" — interdicted  by  law  and  gospel — shadows 
forth  its  wild  propensities  under  the  very  eye  of  the 
police ; — a  singular  affair  it  is  too  !  quite  indescribable. 
It  must  have  been  invented  by  a  genius.  I  under- 
stand the  late  Duke  of  Orleans  introduced  it  to  a  very 
select  court  circle,  where  it  became  quite  the  rage. 
It  is  very  lascivious,  but  when  danced  well,  has  such 
a  fascinating  movement  that  it  is  impossible  to  find 
fault  with  its  unequivocal  pantomime.  There  are  many 
varieties  of  it :  some,  indeed,  amounting  to  complete  dis- 
tortion of  the  body,  and  I  have  seen  the  "  Cancan"  when  I 
really  thought  the  dancers  were  in  a  nervous  agony. 
These  balls  are  obliged  to  close  at  eleven  o'clock.  A 
passing  visit  to  the  "  Aveugles"  is  not  to  be  despised ;  they 
are  under  the  "  Cafe  Lemblin"  in  the  Palais  Royal.  The 
music  is  so-so,  but  the  performance  of  the  "  Sauvage"  on 
the  drum  is  striking  !  it  is  emphatically  the  richest  hum- 
bug in  Paris.  He  is  dressed  like  the  pictures  of  the  Inca 
of  Peru,  and  looks  fierce  as  the  essence  of  a  thousand 
"Dalgettys."  On  a  sudden  he  rushes  from  behind  a 
curtain,  as  if  stung  by  a  gad-fly.  He  seizes  his  drum 
sticks,  and  almost  annihilates  his  audience  with  a  glare. 
Expectation  is  now  on  tip-toe ;  nothing  short  of  cannibal- 
ism is  looked  for  from  such  a  piece  of  rampant  ferocity. 
The  music  of  the  blind  harpers  commences,  when,  ''oh! 
most  lame  and  impotent  conclusion,"  the  promising  and 
melting  savage  closes  his  short  and  war-like  career  in  a 
ludicrous  "tattoo" — and  yet  the  spectators  are  delighted; 
the  girls  are  lost  in  admiration  of  his  splendid  muscle,  and 
the  men  are  lost  in  the  depths  of  savage  grandeur  and 
villainous  beer.  At  the  top  of  the  stairs  leading  to  this 
precious  interlude  of  the  general  madness,  stands  a  mud- 
eyed  individual  with  coat  "for  two,"  and  a  cocked  hat 


64 


^VILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


large  enough  to  awaken  reflections  on  a  grand  scale  in  the 
emphist  noddle.  It  is  just  the  kind  of  hat  to  salute  the 
Pyramids  with,  or  to  withstand  a  charge  of  cavalry.  This 
door-keeper,  or  rather  this  combined  result  of  many  ward- 
robes, cries  out  continually — "Venez!"  "  Yenez,  Mes- 
sieurs!" "Ici" — '^ici!"  "Chose  extraordinaire!"  "Le 
Sauvage."  "Messieurs!" — and  does  the  honors  of  your 
entree  with  fervent  grace.  "  Pardon,  Monsieur  !"  "  Place 
pour  Monsieur — par  ici — pardon — non — par  la  !  bien  !" — 
and  then,  with  an  amplified  swing  of  his  coat  tail,  he 
mounts  again  to  ensnare  "more  men."  I  have  seen  some 
excellent  "by  play"  down  in  that  cavern  of  the  "  Aveu- 
gles" — but,  then  the  beer  is  so  wretched,  and  the  segar 
smoke  so  herculean,  it  almost  knocks  one  down.  By  the 
way,  this  morning  my  bell  rang,  and  a  modest-looking 
grisettc  came  sliding  along  into  my  ante-chamber;  she 
curtseyed,  blushed,  apologized — a  mistake — was  in  search 
of  Monsieur  Somebody,  &c.  Just  as  I  was  proving  that  a 
slight  error  in  this  case  was  no  error  at  all,  I  was  relieved 
by  the  arrival  of  the  student  who  occupies  the  room 
behind  mine,  and  I  bowed  myself  very  politely  into  retreat- 
ing order.  I  felt  like  a  cut-off  fountain,  stopped  at  mid- 
day, in  the  full  light  of  the  sun;  the  "nasty"  student  had 
the  impudence  to  thank  me  profusely  for  having  answered 
the  bell.  Never  mind,  his  bell  will  ring  again,  and  we 
shall  see  whether  his  goods  shall  pass  my  ante-chamber 
without  "  stoppage  in  transitu."  If  we  must  be  tenants 
in  common  of  the  department,  I  will  claim  my  share  of  the 
profits,  no  alloying  of  the  precious  metals  without  ray  con- 
>nirrence.    Shylock  asks  for  Justice. 


LORETTE  AND  GKISETTE. 


65 


LEAF  IX. 

THE    LORETTE    AND    THE  GRISETTE. 

Paris,  18—. 

There  are  two  species  of  the  genus  Woman,  wliich  re- 
volve more  or  less  remote  in  the  visual  orbit  of  the  stranger 
in  Paris :  and  which  afford  him,  perhaps,  more  food  for  his 
peculiar  telescopic  observation  than  brighter  luminaries. 
They  are  the  Lorettes"  and  the  "  Grisettes."  The  Lo- 
rette  is  the  child  of  any  body — mostly  some  colonel  in  the 
'•grande  armie."  She  neither  toils  nor  spins."  Her 
worldly  goods  are  a  tooth-brush,  a  seal  of  original  device, 
and  a  host  of  under-petticoats.  Her  partiality  for  the 
latter  article  is  extravagant,  and  she  sometimes  swells 
them  out  to  an  incredible  circumference.  Her  accomplish- 
ments are  manifold.  She  regards  life  as  a  "deshabille," 
which  should  be  unrestricted  by  any  social  chord.  To  her, 
money  is  a  fiction.  Champagne  and  Burgundy  are  all  she 
knows  of  France ;  and  as  for  the  beef-steaks  she  consumes, 
why  she  conceives  them  a  natural  product,  like  the  fungus 
of  the  forest.  She  has  all  the  graces  of  voluptuousness  and 
all  the  charm  of  virtue — but  it  is  virtue  after  its  fall.  In  her 
mouth  indelicacy  becomes  wit,  and  badinage"  warms  into 
sincerity.  The  Lorette  becomes  the  friend  of  a  prince  or  a 
peer,  a  Turk  or  a  minister.  Her  lover  is  selected  from  the 
theatre  or  from  among  the  artists.  The  Grisette  is  the 
particular  property  of  the  student — his  wife,  only  without 
the  legal  sanction— his  slave,  only  without  the  jurisdiction 
of  the  "  bow-string."  She  smokes  his  pipe  until  cu- 
lotted."  She  drains  the  "salve  d'amour"  from  his  goblet. 
She  shares  his  antipathies  and  adores  his  friends.  More< 
E  €* 


G6 


TTILD  OATS,  SOTTX  ABROAD. 


over,  she  supports  herself,  and  frequently  her  lover.  She 
is  a  de^renorate  imaore  of  the  Fretillon  of  Berans-er.  The 
Lorette  is  the  result  of  luxury — the  Grisette  of  over 
populousness.  The  former  takes  the  path  of  coquetterie  to 
ruin — the  latter  the  high  road  of  the  passions.  The  Lo- 
rette dresses  with  great  care  and  finish.  Her  toilet  is  a 
sort  of  prospectus"  for  the  passing  speculator  to  invest 
at  his  peril.  The  dividend  is  very  uncertain.  With  the 
Grisette  the  prospectus  is  plainer,  but  there  is  less  to  lose 
for  the  instalments  are  lighter.  "With  your  Grisette  it  is 
your  first  kiss — with  the  Lorette  it  is  your  first  dinner. 
The  Lorette  is  becomingly  devout — the  Grisette  supersti- 
tiously  so.  The  one  kneels  rather  in  behalf  of  her  grace- 
ful mantilla,  than  herself — the  other  prostrates  herself  un- 
reservedly to  the  business  of  devotion. 

I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  a  marked  characteristic  of 
the  Lorettcs,  or  whether  it  is  common  to  most  women,  but  I 
find  that  at  the  very  time  she  is  portraying  most  eloquently 
with  her  tongue,  her  fixed  aversion  to  the  measure  in  pro- 
cess, she  is  making  but  feeble  resistance  to  your  encroach- 
ments upon  her  toilet.  I  could  never  account  for  this  want 
of  generalship.  History  would  give  a  strange  account  of 
that  commander  who  should  attempt  to  defend  his  fortress 
by  playing  with  his  flute  upon  the  ramparts  while  the 
enemy  were  scaling  the  walls.  Philosophy  is  mightily 
puzzled  to  account  for  a  woman's  vagaries.  Ask  her  for  a 
small  favor,  and  she  treats  you  as  the  Athenians  did  Aris- 
tides ;  seize  her  as  Napoleon  did  Venice,  and  the  key  of 
her  possessions  is  in  your  hand.  When  Belisarius  com- 
mands, the  world  obeys  ;  when  Belisarius  turns  beggar,  the 
weakest  may  refuse. 

But  we  are  "  ofi"  soundings"  again!  The  Grisette  is 
passionately  fond  of  smoking.  She  also  taketh  great  de- 
light in  the  exhibition  at  the  "  Chateau  d'Eau,"  where  the 


KISSING  BAT. 


67 


little  fellow  with  the  big  head  discourseth  wisdom  and  wit- 
ticism with  the  learned  door-keeper  of  the  wax-works  and 
puppet-show.  Here  you  will  see  her  in  the  midst  of  the 
crowd  with  her  clean  cap  and  pannier  basket,  listening  to 
the  cynical  remarks  of  the  little  man  with  the  big  head. 

The  "  Bonne"  is  anothel*  character  to  be  seen  around 
these  exhibitions.  She  is  "my  lady's  maid"  and  confidant 
— the  children's  guardian  and  the  lover's  mercury.  She 
takes  the  place  of  the  mistress  on  more  occasions  than  one. 
She  is  an  ardent  admirer  of  Punchinello  and  "  Le  Chien 
Flora."  She  devours  enormous  quantities  of  "  gaiet,"  and 
as  the  keeper  of  her  mistress'  conscience,  occupies  compa- 
ratively a  high  social  position.  No  man  should  make  war 
without  securing  the  "Bonne"  for  an  ally.  This  is  done 
by  a  trifling  outlay  of  platonic  alfection  and  five-franc  pieces. 

KISSING    DAY— THE  ''TATTOO." 

Jan.  1st. — This  is  the  day  of  general  salutation.  On  a 
rough  calculation,  there  is  probably  more  kissing  done  in 
France  on  New  Year's  day  than  the  whole  American  na- 
tion accomplish  in  a  year.  I  am  a  very  indolent  man  my- 
self, and  yet  I  managed  "to  bag"  a  brace  of  ladies — four 
married  women,  one  widow,  a  semi-virgin,  one  child  in  arms, 
and  a  score  or  two  of  Lorettes  and  Grisettes.  The  widow 
1  took  upon  the  wing.  They  are  such  a  scary  bird  ;  I  do 
not  know  how  long  my  ammunition  would  have  held  out, 
but,  unfortunately  for  the  day's  sport,  we  all  got  slightly 
intoxicated  at  the  dinner-table,  and  could  hardly  be  called 

in  kissing  order.    Friend  D  was  shockingly  far  gone ; 

his  diseased  vision  recognized  nothing  but  "  gens-d'arms," 
and  he  was  continually  striking  out  at  the  innocent  empty 
bottles  arrayed  before  him.  He  entreated  in  the  most  ear- 
nest manner,  to  be  allowed  to  knock  a  long-necked  flask  of 


68 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


Maraschino"  down,  as  he  was  confident  it  was  the  iden- 
tical "gen  d'arme"  of  the  "  Salle  Victoire,"  who  had  once 
put  an  extinguisher  upon  his  merriment.  There  was  no 
mistaking  his  long  neck.  He  succumbed  gradually.  We 
lifted  his  sinking  remains  from  the  festive-board,  and  car- 
ried him  like  a  vanquished  warrior  to  bed.  As  I  settled 
his  head  on  the  pillow,  he  pressed  my  hand  affectionately, 
and  begged  we  w^ould  execute  him  with  his  face  upwards, 
and  not  fc^:gct  to  tell  his  wife  that  he  had  lived  virtuously 
even  in  Pr.ris,  and  now  died  happy ! 

I  smiled  at  his  dying  confession,  and  wdiispered  in  his 
ear,  with  the  solemnity  of  a  father  confessor,  "  Remember 
Rue  Montmartre  and  the  sisters  two  ?" 

His  eye  gleamed  with  a  sort  of  drunken  memory,  and 
he  hiccoughed  out,  "Oh,  misery  I  wasn't  Agnes  ugly?" 
Oblivion  was  upon  him. 

Last  night  we  had  rather  a,  rich  joke.  It  was  im- 
promptu, and  we  enjoyed  it  wonderfully.  S  and  my- 
self had  just  returned  from  the  opera.  As  we  entered  my 
ante-chamber,  we  heard  a  terrible  drumming  in  our  court 
yard.  What  the  deuce  could  it  mean  ?  Quite  alarming  ! 
It  was  near  midnight,  and  there  stood  a  file  of  drummers 
beating  their  drums  most  lustily.  Up  went  the  windows 
over-looking  the  court-yard.    All  was  commotion  in  the 

American  quarter.    D  and  X  ,  unable  to  get  any 

information  from  their  windows,  came  rushing  down  stairs, 

and  met  S  at  the  door  of  my  room.    It  was  as  dark 

as  a  cavern,  for  we  had  as  yet  no  light. 

"Hush!"  says  S  ,  to  the  party;  "there's  the  devil 

to  pay !    The  gens-d'arms  are  after  Y  !" 

I  took  the  scent,  and  immediately  threw  myself  under 
the  bed-clothes. 

"My  God !"  cries  both  at  once,  "what's  the  matter?" 

Here  S          lowered  his  voice  to  a  whisper,  and  told 


THE  TATTOO. 


69 


how  we  had  get  into  a  row — how  I  had  stabbed  three 
Frenchmen  in  the  Rue  de  Bussy,  and  received  a  tremen- 
dous cut  in  the  side — (here  I  groaned  audibly.)  The 
drums  changed  to  a  tattoo,  and  I  could  hear  X  breath- 
ing hard  under  the  excitement. 

Horrible  !"  whispered  D  ,  "  What  shall  we  do  ?" 

"Lock  all  the  doors,"  says  S  .    "Let's  get  into 

Y  's  room,  and  strike  a  light.    I  have  an  instrument 

case  in  my  pocket," 

Here  they  entered  my  room,  and  while  S  was  fumb- 
ling about  for  a  match,  D  came  feeling  his  way  up  to 

my  bed,  and  asked  me  where  I  was  hurt.  I  groaned  fear- 
fully, for  I  should  have  laughed  outright  if  I  had  at- 
tempted to  answer.  In  my  hurry  to  get  into  bed,  I  had 
kept  my  hat  and  gloves  on,  and  now  succeeding  in  pulling 
my  hat  over  my  face  before  the  candle  was  brought,  I  pre- 
sented rather  a  crippled  appearance  to  my  examiners. 

How  S  could  look  on  unmoved  is  a  mystery.  While 

D  was  feeling  my  pulse,  X          made  an  effort  to 

remove  my  hat.    This  was  fatal  to  our  scheme,  for  my 

eye  fell  full  upon  the  pale,  spectacled  face  of  X  ,  and 

then  a  wink  from  S  finished  me  !  I  roared  convul- 
sively. D  looked  aghast.  The  resurrection  of  Laza- 
rus was  not  more  startling  to  the  beholders.    X   did 

not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  cry.  He  was  perplexed  in 
the  extreme.  Both  were  candid  enough  to  admit  that  we 
had  quizzed  them  beautifully. 

The  drumming,  v;e  afterwards  discovered,  w\as  intended 
to  announce  to  one  of  our  neighbors  that  he  was  drawn  to 
serve  the  ensuing  year  in  the  National  Guards. 


70 


TTILD   OATSj  SOWN  ABROAD. 


LEAF  X. 

THE  MASKED  BALL  — "THE  INCOGNITA." 

Paris,  18—.. 

The  masked  balls  have  commenced !  They  are  racy, 
"vyicked,  and  brilliant.  Just  imagine  some  six  thousand 
people  let  loose  at  midnight  in  the  Grand  Opera  House, 
determined  to  dance,  flirt,  shout,  and  gallop  until  morn- 
ing, with  Musard  for  the  presiding  genius !  I  got  my 
first  view  of  the  floor  from  one  of  the  upper  tiers,  and  I 
thought  there  was  a  general  rush  to  insanity.  The  dance 
was  in  full  blast,  and  from  the  very  foot  of  the  orchestra 
to  the  balustrade  of  the  boxes  was  one  grand  "  cancanic" 
movement.  The  soul  of  every  man  and  w^oman  seemed 
absorbed  in  the  enthusiasm  of  a  shufile,  or  the  delight  of  a 
whirl ;  while  the  fiddle  bow  of  Musard  described  the  most 
fantastic  diagrams  upon  the  frighted  air.  The  boxes  were 
crowded  with  dominoes  of  every  description,  and  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  get  through  the  dense  mass  of 
intriguants  assembled  in  the  foyer.  Disguised  voices  and 
unknown  pressures  of  the  hand,  greeted  you  from  every 
side. 

I  went  down  to  get  a  better  look  at  the  dancers.  I  had 
scarcely  touched  the  floor  before  I  was  whizzed  olF  in  the 
embrace  of  some  big  warrior,  and  away  went  the  gallopade, 
neck  or  nothing — hundreds  before,  hundreds  behind  me, 
they  came  like  the  Assyrian.  I  was  in  the  very  midst  of 
the  melee.  IMy  warrior  urged  mo  on,  shouting,  pushing, 
belter  skelter,  until  we  all  fell  head  foremost  upon  one 
another.    Then  came  a  burst  like  a  war-whoop.    I  found 


THE  MASKED  BALL. 


71 


myself  at  least  three  deep  among  the  petticoats.  My  hat 
was  irretrievably  ruined.  In  another  moment  we  were  all 
on  our  legs  again.  Amiability  reigned  supreme.  ^'  Give 
and  take,"  was  the  motto.  A  hasty  "pardon"  was  suffi- 
cient atonement  for  receiving  a  flesh  wound  from  the  spur 
of  a  cavalier,  or  having  your  eye  damaged  by  the  pointed 
chapeau  of  some  military  hero.  The  personation  of  the 
devil  is  a  favorite  character,  and  you  see  his  red  legs  and 
chicken-cock  feather  on  every  occasion.  The  women  de- 
light in  playing  the  "  gamin" — a  vagabond  sort  of  boy, — 
or  the  Spanish  cavalier,  with  slashed  sleeves  and  velvet 
sombrero.  It  is  no  easy  matter  to  detect  your  most  inti- 
mate acquaintance  in  domino  and  mask.  The  figure  is  so 
completely  concealed,  and  the  eyes  have  such  a  singular 
appearance,  peeping  from  behind  the  pasteboard  bulwarks, 
that  they  can  defy  the  closest  scrutiny.  It  is  a  point  of 
honor  not  to  attempt  to  raise  the  small  piece  of  silk  falling 
from  the  bottdm  of  the  mask  over  the  mouth.;  so  you  have 
but  few  points  left  to  identify  your  tormentor.  The  hand 
and  foot  may  sometimes  betray,  but  your  cunning  intri- 
guante takes  good  care  never  to  draw  her  glove  or  allow 
you  to  tie  her  shoe.  I  detected  a  little  wretch  the  other 
evening  by  a  habit  she  had  of  shaking  herself ;  but  I  am 
dreadfully  puzzled  now  with  a  very  lady-like  looking  domi- 
no, who  has  accosted  me  at  every  Eal  Masque  yet  given  at 
the  Opera  Comique.  I  cannot  imagine  who  the  tantalizing 
witch  is.  She  will  neither  walk  with  me,  sup  with  me,  nor 
dance  with  me.  She  talks  French  and  English  fluently, 
and  is  always  with  the  same  gentleman. 

The  most  astonishing  part  of  her  knovv^ledge  is  that  she 
pronounces  my  name  distinctly  and  correctly — a  thing  no 
foreign  woman  has  ever  yet  done.  Ergo,  she  must  be  an 
American ;  yet  her  conversation  is  too  loose  for  that — 
besides,  she  knows  too  mucli  about  tactics  and  the  conve- 


72 


WILD  OATSj  SOWN  ABROAD. 


niences  of  social  freedom.  My  first  encounter  with  her 
was  startling.  I  was  trying  to  talk  German  with  an 
Alsatian  girl  who  had  as  pretty  a  neck  as  ever  sjDurned  a 
chemisette,  when  I  heard  some  one  whisper  in  my  ear, 
"You  speak \retched  German  for  a  Pennsylvanian,  edu- 
cated among  the  Moravians." 

I  turned  about  as  if  shot,  and  in  the  forgetfulness  of 
astonishment,  exclaimed,  "Who  the  devil  are  you?" 

She  said,  laconically,  "I  am  the  devil,"  and  glided  off. 

I  cut  the  Alsatianne,  and  followed  the  new  sphinx. 
She  wore  a  pink  domino,  with  the  hood  closely  drawn 
over,  and  ruffled.  I  could  not  even  see  the  color  of  her 
hair.  Her  partner  was  very  tall  and  very  ugly.  He 
looked  neither  foreign  nor  domestic.  I  could  make  no- 
thing of  him.  They  spoke  little  to  each  other,  and  after 
a  turn  or  two  joined  a  bevy  of  masks  in  one  of  the  boxes. 
These  were  evidently  natives.  I  entered,  and  requested 
the  pleasure  of  a  stroll  with  the  pink  domino.  She  declined 
— was  tired ;  said  she  had  strolled  often  enough  with  me  in 
America,  and  found  me  a  very  stupid  companion. 

I  ventured  to  insinuate  that  perhaps  my  visit  to  Paris 
had  improved  me.  She  doubted  whether  that  was  possi- 
ble, as  my  conceit  would  prevent  me  from  taking  advan- 
tage from  the  opportunity.  This  was  sharp  shooting,  and 
I  coolly  told  the  lady  I  hoped  she  possessed  sufficient  cha- 
racter to  study  it  with  the  same  care  she  had  evidently 
studied  mine. 

Here  we  had  a  cessation  of  hostilities.  I  began  to  plot 
a  bold  move  for  a  discovery. 

"  Did  your  sister  accompany  you  to  Paris  ?"  says  I. 

"Try  it  again,"  says  she.  "You  used  to  be  famous  at 
college  for  your  diplomatic  ability." 

I  was  slightly  dashed,  but  returned  the  charge. 

"  I  take  till?  opportiiviity.  my  pharp-tongued  beauty^  to 


THE  INCOGNITA. 


73 


fling  an  unpalateable  truth  or  two  at  you;  but  I  will  be 
generous.  I  knew  you  by  your  walk,  and,  to  prove  my 
knowledge,  I  need  only  tell  you  that  you  have  red  hair." 

"You  were  never  more  mistaken  in  your  life,"  says  she, 
and  pulled  back  her  hood.  It  was  all  I  aimed  at — but  it 
availed  me  little.  Her  hair  was  dark,  without  ornament 
of  any  kind,  and,  to  my  utter  disappointment,  uncurled. 

I  was  now  without  helm  or  compass,  and  begged  for 
quarter.  She  consented  to  meet  me  in  the  foyer,  provided 
I  would  not  make  the  slightest  effort  at  discovery,  or 
behave  at  all  imprudently.  This  latter  clause  savored  of 
Americanism ;  yet  I  feel  perfectly  convinced  she  is  no 
American.  She  told  me  of  my  intended  trip  to  Italy, 
naming  my  route,  and  my  companion.  Where  she  got 
this  information  from  is  the  greatest  mystery  of  all,  as  we 
had  but  a  few  days  before  decide  !  upon  those  matters. 
She  promised  to  meet  me  in  the  San  Carlo,  at  JSTaples,  on 
the  last  nio^ht  of  the  Carnival.  She  will  then  enlighten 
me  upon  sundry  perplexing  riddles,  to  which  she  pretends 
to  hold  the  key.  This  is  doubtless  gammon.  In  the 
meantime,  I  shall  see  her  once  more  at  the  Academie 
Royale,  and  perhaps  unaccompanied  by  her  tall  protector. 

After  much  legerdemain,  I  succeeded  in  stealing  her 
handkerchief.  I  felt  like  Bonaparte  at  Marengo.  I 
ran  my  eye  over  every  inch  of  it,  but  it  was  blank  as 
a  virgin  page  or  a  dandy's  face ;  not  even  a  hieroglyphic. 
My  invention  is  now  exhausted,  and  if  some  accident  do 
not  favor  me  in  our  next  interview,  I  shall  be  reduced 
to  despair.  But  I  much  mistake  human  nature  if  she 
is  positively  determined  not  to  give  me  some  clue  to  the 
secret. 

Last  night,  D  and  myself  made  a  slight  error,  and 

took  possession  of  a  private  carriage  in  front  of  the 
theatre,  mistaking  it  for  a  hack ;  indeed,  the  rain  was 


74 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


falling  in  torrents,  and  in  the  darkness  and  hurry  we 
took  no  trouble  to  distinguish  the  difference.  The  coach- 
man grew  furious  at  the  astonishing  coolness  "with  which 
I  ordered  him  to  drive  us  to  our  lodgings.  The  little 
man  threatened  to  hand  us  over  to  the  police  if  we  did  not 
descend  instanter.  I  insisted  upon  explaining  the  matter 
before  ahghting,  but  the  incensed  Jehu  would  not  listen 
to  me,  fully  persiiaded  that  we  had  entered  the  coach 
designedly.  Finding  him  unreasonable,  I  became  indig- 
nant, and  knocked  the  unhappy  man's  hat  over  his  eyes. 
We  made  our  escape  into  another  vehicle,  while  he  was 
filling  the  depths  of  his  hat  with  execrations,  and  dancing 
about  in  the  rain  like  a  decapitated  chicken. 

In  a  few  weeks  we  start  for  Italy.  I  begin  to  grow  weary 
of  these  crowds  without  company,  and  this  dissipation  with- 
out pleasure.  I  h>ng  for  ruins — for  vestiges  of  the  giant  king- 
doms of  old — for  meditation — for  change ;  give  me  a  look 
at  the  tideless  Mediterranean  ! — at  Geneva  la  Superba ! 
New  worlds  of  enchantment  are  spread  out  before  me ; 
why  should  I  tarry  longer  here  ?  A  curse  on  the  imagina- 
tion !  Why  are  we  not  satisfied  with  what  we  have  ?  I 
must  devote  a  few-days  to  sight-seeing,  lest  I  should  be 
hurried  for  time  when  I  return.  There  is  Pere  le  Chaise, 
and  the  Gobelins,  and  a  visit  to  Versailles,  and  the  Abbey 
of  St.  Denis.  I  must  also  be  presented  to  Georges  Sand, 
and  must  not  forget  to  see  Civiale  operate. 

What  will  become  of  my  flirtation  with  the  modiste  in 
the  Rue  de  Bussy  ?  It  has  reached  its  most  interesting 
point.  She  replied  to  my  last  note,  and  vows  she  never 
had  an  Arthur,  and  never  will  have  one.  Poor  creature ! 
what  a  melancholy  fate !  she  must  be  handed  over  to 

S  .    I  danced  with  Marie  at  the  last  masked  ball, 

and  she  called  S.  a  "  lapinchaud,''  What  could  he  have 
been  doing  ?" 


THE  CHARMS  OF  PARIS. 


75 


LEAF  XI. 

OUR  DEPARTURE  FROM  PARIS. 

Paris,  18.— 

We  started  this  morning  at  llf  o'clock,  for  Chalons — 
not  one  petticoat  in  the  whole  diligence ;  and  a  dreary- 
looking  cloud  dropping  an  occasional  tear  or  two,  was  our 
only  accompaniment  down  the  Rue  de  I'Arbre  and  across 
the  old  Pont  Neuf.  We  rattled  on  at  a  dreadful  pace. 
The  streets  were  just  dirty  enough  to  afford  a  tolerable 
excuse  of  the  display  of  a  pretty  leg  and  ancle.  There 
was  quite  an  exhibition  of  them  along  the  Quai,  and,  like 
other  blessings,  they  seemed  rounder,  neater,  brighter, 
as  we  dashed  through  the  barriere  de  la  Gare  into  the 
distance,  and  left  Paris  and  its  mysteries,  perhaps,  for 
ever!  Not  as  a  Neophyte  had  I  entered  the  vast  metro- 
polis of  pleasure,  nor  was  I  about  to  leave  it  with  a  very 
exalted  idea  of  its  extravagantly  lauded  enchantment. 
The  charm  of  Paris  is  said  to  be  its  infinite  variety, 
its  social  freedom,  and  the  advantages  it  presents  for 
the  gratification  of  sensuality;  of  course  the  man  of 
mere  idlesse  rarely  looks  farther.  For  the  real  stu- 
dent who  wishes  to  employ  his  time  usefully,  I  know 
of  no  place  equal  to  Paris;  but  for  the  ''refined  loafer," 
its  superiority  has  been  greatly  overrated.  Its  variety 
consists  in  some  eighteen  or  twenty  theatres,  whose 
highest  ambition  is  to  see  which  can  run  a  given  piece 
the  longest  time,  and  in  some  two  or  three  balls  per 
week,  whose  only  recommendation  is  their  brevity.  For 
the  novice  and  the  debauchee  it  is  a  paradise — the  former 
being  satisfied  with  any  thing,  the  latter  requiring  a 


76 


WILD    OATS,  SO^^N  ABROAD. 


brutalitj  of  pleasure^  -which  would  not  be  tolerated  in 
any  other  capital. 

Night  after  night  have  I  passed  from  one  scene  of 
mis-called  gratification  to  another,  and  the  same  weari- 
some repetition  of  face  and  farce  met  me  continually. 
A  perfect  toilet  and  a  fascinating  manner — good  wine  and 
an  excellent  cuisine,  constitute  the  whole  essence  of  Paris. 
Yes,  there  is  one  other  admirable  quality  which  the  women 
possess :  the  handsomest  feet  and  legs,  and  the  cleanest 
stockings  in  the  world ;  but  there  the  catalogue  ends.  As 
companions  they  are  witty,  talkative,  and  agreeable ;  as 
mistresses  they  are  cold,  calculating  and  damnable.  Early 
and  continued  prostitution  renders  them  unfeeling  and 
worthless.    They  substitute  art — indeed,  they  live  on  art. 

Life  is  art  and  art  is  Life,"  with  them;  they  doubtless 
deceive  themselves,  and,  like  great  actors,  believe  they  are 
the  character  they  portray.  Strange,  that  in  a  city  like 
Paris,  where  individual  existence  is  a  mere  drop  in  the 
ocean,  all,  from  the  attic  companion  to  the  Prime  Minister, 
spend  their  life  in  striving  to  raise  their  dead  in  some 
shape  or  other  above  the  great  mass ;  and  your  lorette, 
who  has  wheedled  her  lover  into  paying  for  a  pine-apple 
at  the  "  Trois  Freres,"  actually  believes  that  all  Paris 
is  aware  of  her  having  dined  on  the  delicious  exotic, 
the  expense  of  which  her  fond  adorer  is  recovering 
from  by  a  species  of  smallnesses  too  contemptible  to 
have  their  origin  in  any  but  the  head  of  a  Frenchman. 
A  carriage  and  a  purse  are  all  the  requisites  for  in- 
flaming Parisian  adoration.  Let  the  godly  temple  of 
your  person  be  ever  so  shabby,  the  devotees  will  crowd 
around  it,  from  the  sable  cloak  of  the  Chaussee  D'Antin 
down  to  the  denuded  bosom  of  the  Latin  Quartier.  Go  to 
a  licensed  house  of  prostitution — half  the  National  Guard 
will  have  been  there  before  you.    Go  to  a  procuress — pay 


CHANGIXG  HOESES. 


77 


her  enormously,  and  the  probabilities  are  that  the  fresh 
girl  from  the  provinces"  will  turn  out  to  be  your  own  oi* 
the  mistress  of  a  friend.  Go  solitary  and  alone"  to  cull 
from  the  general  crowd,  and  the  chances  are  a  few  months 
residence  in  the  hospital  of  Ricord.  Such  are  some  of  the 
claims  which  Paris  has  to  being  called  the  home  of  plea- 
sure !  Save  me  from  the  delicious  ecstacies  of  the  Pari- 
sienne.  Ko  wonder  "  L'homme  blase"  is  such  a  common 
character.  With  all  my  resources  and  Epicurean  philo- 
sophy, "three  little  months"  sufficed  to  make  me  quite 
blase  with  the  simple  joys  of  Paris;  in  the  "complex" 
ones  I  felt  no  disposition  to  participate ;  but  then  the 
masked  balls !  they  are  an  exception — they  stand  unri- 
valled— and  it  is  only  French  abandonment  that  can  give 
the  necessary  soul  to  these  splendid  exhalations. 

But  our  diligence  has  reached  Charenton — not  much  of 
a  place  ;  indeed,  the  same  may  be  said  of  most  French 
villages  ;  generally,  a  row  of  low,  plastered  houses,  with  a 
dirty  auberge.  Here  stand  two  of  the  detached  forts,  in- 
tended to  protect  Paris.  With  what  rapidity  French  pos- 
.tillions  change  horses  !  A  curse,  a  kick,  a  crack  of  the 
whip,  and  all  is  over.  One  has  scarcely  time  to  steady  the 
refreshing  fl{^§k  of  cordial  on  the  lip  before  the  huge  ma- 
chine is  in  motion.  It  would  be  rather  amusing  to  see  a 
diligence  break  into  an  American  village  !  It  would  create 
a  greater  sensation  than  a  menagerie.  The  postillion's 
boots  would  be  the  first  point  of  attack  for  the  young  de- 
mocracy ;  his  short-tailed  coat  would  receive  a  respectable 
proportion  of  the  slang  ;  and  should  he  unfortunately  be 
undersized,  so  as  to  make  the  mass  of  leather  show  to  ad- 
vantage, there  is  no  telling  the  consequences.  A  conven- 
tion of  tanners  would  doubtless  be  held,  to  take  measures 
for  the  immediate  adoption  of  that  style  of  dress,  and  the 
poor  victim  of  juvenile  curiosity  and  persecution  would  be 

7^^ 


78 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


glad,  enough  to  creep  into  one  of  his  own  boots,  to  avoid 
further  molestation.  What  a  laugh  the  railroad  stock- 
holders would  indulge  in,  as  they  criticised  the  dimensions 
and  terrible  weight  of  the  mammoth  vehicle — prophesying 
death  to  all  the  horses  in  the  country ;  and  with  what  a 
contemptible  sneer  our  four-in-hand  Jehus  would  regard  the 
necessity  for  postillions.  The  coupe  and  interior  might 
meet  with  some  advocates  ;  but  the  shocking  rotunda  would 
be  condemned  distinctly.  Some  Brummell  of  a  saddler 
might  also  venture  to  ask  "  if  that  was  harness !"  and  eye 
it  with  the  same  sovereign  indignation  bestowed  upon  the 
"Duke's  coat." 

But  with  all  this  your  diligence  is  a  very  comfortable 
sort  of  thing,  and,  for  a  long  journey,  decidedly  preferable 
to  any  other  species  of  conveyance — that  is,  provided  you 
have  this  coupe  corner  seat,  with  nobody  in  the  middle, 
and  a  very  pleasant  creature  in  the  other  corner.  Now 
here  I  have  plenty  of  room  to  sleep,  plenty  of  room  to 
eat,  &c.,  &c., — while  the  conductor  takes  a  good  care  to 
keep  my  feet  warm  by  replenishing  with  coals  a  sort  of 
brass  compartment  in  the  floor ;  so  we  jolt  along  right . 
pleasantly,  and  have  already  reached  Montereau.  From 
those  heights  yonder  Napoleon  poured  destruction  upon 
the  allies  in  1814,  and  where  that  bridge  over  the  Seine 
stands,  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  (Jean  Sans  Peur,)  was 
murdered,  so  says  the  incomparable  Murray,  Prince  of 
Guides. 

On  through  Sens  to  Auxerre,  where  grows  the  Chablis 
wine ;  roads  muddy,  and  soil  bad — nothing  but  up  hill  and 
down.    Another  night  before  we  can  reach  Chalon. 

I  got  through  last  night  admirably — slept  from  seven 
o'clock  till  midnight — waked  with  a  tremendous  appetite — 
reached  into  the  pocket  of  the  diligence  to  examine  our 
stock  of  provisions — found  a  poulet  and  a  bottle  of  Chab- 


ABELAED  AND  HELOISE. 


79 


lis.  The  moon  was  shining  gloriously,  and  beneath  its 
chaste  light  I  proceeded  to  the  dissection  of  the  poulet. 
My  principal  weapon  was  a  small  pocket-knife — a  Congress 
knife,  by  the  way.  As  the  operation  did  not  require  great 
delicacy  of  touch,  I  seized  the  unfortunate  bird  by  the 
left  leg,  and  attempted  a  lateral  incision  under  the  wing. 
Like  some  other  great  surgeon,  my  instrument  broke  ,  but 
happily  the  subject  was  already  dead,  and  I  escaped  the 
mortification  of  suffering  the  victim  to  breathe  her  last  in 
my  hands.    By  this  time  the  flavor  of  the  virgin  corpse 

had  waked  T          to  a  sense  of  existence,  and  by  our 

united  efforts,  a  la  Turk,  not  a  bone  was  left  unpicked,  nor 
a  drop  of  the  grape  unfathomed. 

We  both  again  withdrew  into  sweet  oblivion,  and  the 
scream  of  "  Dejeuner  !"  this  morning,  was  the  first  cause 
of  recurring  sense.  Talk  of  a  bivouac  compared  to  a 
night  in  the  diligence  under  such  circumstances !  What 
a  stupid  place  Chalons  is  ?  They  bring  us  in  at  5  A.  M., 
and  then  make  us  wait  in  a  cold,  smokey  cafe  until  7 
o'clock,  for  the  boat. 

T  is  trying  to  warm  himself  by  the  light  of  a  horrid 

tallow  candle  !  I  wonder  if  Abelard  was  ever  compelled 
to  wait  for  Heloise  under  similar  circumstances.  It  would 
have  cooled  his  ardor.  He  died  at  the  Abbey  of  St.  Mar- 
cel, about  two  miles  from  this  very  Chalons.  Could  I 
wake  his  spirit  from  the  dust  of  Paraclete,  I  would  set  him 
to  reforming  the  means  of  travel  on  the  Saone,  instead  of 
dallying  with  his  pale-faced  nun.  There  is  one  poor  old 
woman  who  has  come  all  the  way  from  the  neighborhood 
of  Paris,  to  Chalons,  to  see  her  daughter,  and  returns  again 
this  evening.  She  tells  me  she  is  seventy-two  years  old, 
and  is  as  merry  as  a  cricket.  How  she  has  borne  the  fa- 
tigue of  her  journey  is  astonishing.  Who  says  the  human 
heart  doth  wear  itself  out  ? 


80 


WILD   OATS;  SOWN  ABROAD. 


LEAF  XII. 

STEAMING    ON    THE  SAONE. 

Ltoxs,  18 — . 

Gor  here  after  eight  hours'  steaming,  in  a  tolerable  boat, 
with  a  very  uninteresting  set  of  passengers.  A  priest  mono- 
polized the  best-looking  woman,  and  an  oflScer  the  only 
newspaper  on  board.  I  took  two  ''dejeuners"  in  order  to 
kill  time,  and  had  the  additional  satisfaction  of  finding 
plenty  of  mud  and  rain  upon  our  arrival.  The  pleasures 
of  traval  began  now  to  dawn  upon  us  with  increasing  bril- 
liancy. Temper  was  below  par,  and  patience  out  of  ques- 
tion. An  umbrella  for  two  is,  at  the  best  of  times,  but  a 
small  allowance, — it  becomes  absurd  when  the  rain  is  co- 
quettish, and  plays  with  the  wind.  Of  course  there  was 
no  fiacre  about.  There  never  is  when  you  really  want  one. 
Cloak  in  hand,  I  run  the  gauntlet  through  a  line  of  por- 
ters, leaving  T  with  the  umbrella  and  luggage.  "Where 

was  the  Hotel  des  Ambassadeurs  ?  that  was  the  question  ! 
A  moment  of  hesitation  would  have  ruined  me — I  should 
have  been  surrounded  by  guides  at  a  franc  per  head.  With 
desperate  energy  I  dashed  along  the  quai,  ancle  deep  in 
the  delicious  torrent,  and  too  much  blinded  by  the  rain  to 
navigate  with  certainty.  I  brought  up  against  a  soldier — • 
fortunate  for  me  had  I  tumbled  him  over.  But  it  was  only 
a  shock  of  attention  ;  and  he  ordered  me  back  until  my 
baggage  should  be  inspected.  A  stroke  of  lightning  could 
not  have  been  more  mal-apropos.  But  obey  was  the  word ; 
and  I  strolled  leisurely  back  to  see  my  linen  and  the  little 
elegancies  of  the  toilet  blended  in  admirable  confusion  by 
a  hard-hearted  member  of  the  customs.    T         was  al- 


A  VIEW  IN  LYONS. 


81 


ready  undergoing  the  agony,  and  we  exchanged  a  sickly 
smile  as  our  trunk  executioner  inquired  if  we  carried  any 
tobacco  !  How  soon  the  great  democratic  heart  would 
break  if  such  things  were  allowed  at  home  !  The  idea  of 
asking  two  sons  of  America  if  they  had  any  tobacco ! 
Here,  salt  and  tobacco  are  the  pets  of  the  revenue. 

Wet  and  irritable  we  reached  our  hotel.  Not  even  the 
smile  of  a  bright  eye,  as  I  crossed  the  bridge,  could  ap- 
pease me.  A  bad  dinner,  and  the  prospect  of  starting  at 
five  in  the  morning,  make  the  climax  of  aggravation. 

I  will  indulge  in  the  historical,  and  look  out  upon  the 
square  where  Cinq  Mars  and  De  Thou  suffered  death. 
There  also,  the  Guillotine,  under  Fouche,  and  Collet  d'Her- 
bois,  did  its  work — beautiful  fruit  of  French  license,  mis- 
called liberty.  Lyons  was  to  be  blotted  out  of  existence 
by  means  of  fusilades  and  itinerant  guillotines,  to  gratify 
the  spleen  of  an  actor  and  the  vengeance  of  a  knave. 
Fouche  &  Co.  certainly  did  a  heavy  business  in  blood 
during  the  French  Revolution — and  the  wonder  is  that  the 
arch-fiend  was  ever  allowed  to  die  in  peace.  But  it  seems 
to  be  always  more  secure  in  France  to  transact  such  affairs 
on  a  large  scale.  They  have  no  mercy  for  awkwardness, 
impoliteness,  and  ordinary  murderers.  It  is  reserved  for 
those  who  slay  by  the  quantity,  and  with  a  certain  finish 
of  manner,  which  may  be  called  the  etiquette  of  atrocity  — 
the  beau  ideal  of  slaughter — the  decencies  of  crinie.  It 
seems  to  be  their  greatest  characteristic  to  preserve  the 
outward  formula  of  propriety  in  all  circumstances.  Your 
grisette  would  no  more  commit  suicide  with  a  shabby  wea- 
pon, or  in  an  undress,  than  she  would  live  constant :  and 
should  a  Frenchman  accidentally  stab  his  father  with  a 
table-knife,  his  greatest  regret  would  be  that  it  was  not  a 
poignard. 
F 


82 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


Avignon,  18 — . 

I  have  frequently  travelled  in  steamboats ;  but  my 
descent  of  the  Rhone  in  the  Sirius  rather  surpasses  my 
former  experience.  We  started  from  Lyons — that  is  to 
say,  we  attempted  to  start — at  five  o'clock  A.  M.,  but  were 
some  three  quarters  of  an  hour  getting  under  way,  amidst 
the  most  infernal  din  imaginable.  We  had  scarcely  gone 
three  miles  before  we  were  aground.  There  was  a  general 
rush  for  the  deck.  Fortunately  we  numbered  only  six 
passengers,  and  nobody  was  crushed  to  death.  There  was 
little  satisfaction  to  be  gained  on  deck.  It  was  barely 
light  enough  to  show  the  confusion  into  which  the  anti- 
marine  Frenchmen  had  been  thrown  by  the  disaster. 
The  whole  crew,  amounting  to  six  men,  with  the  steward, 
were  standing  on  a  plank  which  ran  from  one  wheel-house 
to  the  other,  and  were  holding  on  to  a  huge  pole,  which  I 
afterwards  discovered  was  the  handle  of  the  rudder.  The 
captain  stood  amidships,  on  a  stool,  cursing  the  engineer 
in  most  villanous  French,  while  the  latter  raised  his  head 
above  the  hold,  in  order  to  reply  more  conveniently  and 
elScaciously.  In  the  meantime  the  pilot,  at  the  bow,  was 
completely  overwhelmed  by  the  torrent  of  advice  flowing 
from  the  six  screaming  steersmen,  and  roared  like  a  luna- 
tic. In  the  very  height  of  this  war  of  orders,  the  machi- 
nery began  to  act  "  per  se,"  as  it  were,  and  off  moved  the 
boat  with  a  short,  grating  sound.  The  crisis  was  passed — 
each  of  the  actors  claimed  a  victory,  which  neither  had 
achieved,  and  we  left  them  wrangling  about  it  to  get  some 
information  out  of  the  steward.  He  was  a  poor  devil — 
said  he  had  never  been  in  a  steamboat  before — and  would 
never  go  again.  We  ascertained,  at  last,  that  this  was 
the  first  trip  of  a  new  company  founded  upon  the  bank- 
ruptcy of  the  old. 

Pleasant  business  !  After  steaming  from  five  in  the  morn- 


AVIGNON — PETRARCH  AND  LAURA.  83 


ing  till  five  in  the  evening, — at  which  time  we  were  to  have 
arrived  at  Avignon, — the  captain  very  deliberately  landed 
at  a  sort  of  wharf  without  a  solitary  house  in  view,  and 
told  us  he  should  not  be  able  to  proceed  further  until  next 
morning,  as  the  river  was  too  low.  But  how  was  the 
height  to  increase  over  night,  without  rain  ? — that  was  a 
query  he  disdained  to  answer.  There  we  were :  no  village 
— no  accommodation  on  the  boat — and  what  was  worse, 
nothing *to  eat; — besides  this,  the  water,  from  the  leak  of 
the  morning  disaster,  had  already  penetrated  the  cabin, 
and  there  was  a  prospect  of  the  boat  quietly  sinking  at 
the  wharf.  After  a  hasty  debate  on  the  "ways  and 
means,"  we  all  started  off  for  the  nearest  town  some  few 
miles  distant.  This  proved  only  a  change  of  evils ;  and 
after  a  slight  taste  of  the  cuisine,  and  a  sight  of  the  cham- 
bers, we  agreed  to  return  to  our  flag,  and  with  the  assist- 
ance of  some  fresh  eggs,  and  our  crest-fallen  steward, 
"survive  or  perish."  We  did  survive  the  night — some  on 
carpet-bags,  and  others  in  extempore  hammocks,  swung 
among  the  chains.  One  talkative  Frenchman  argued  him- 
self to  sleep  upon  the  merits  of  Ricord's  system  of  treat- 
ment. 

Next  morning  we  floated  down  the  Rhone  with  our  shat- 
tered bark,  by  St.  Peray,  where  grows  the  delicious  wine, 
and  by  the  Chateau  Grignan,  where  Madame  de  Sevigne 
lived  and  died  ;  on  by  Orange  to  Avignon.  And  right 
glad  was  I  to  see  this  old  seat  of  revelry.  But  one's  trou- 
bles were  not  yet  over.  The  porters  of  Avignon  are 
world-famous,  and  we  prepared  to  give  them  battle.  Most 
unequal  contest !  Two  trunks  and  a  carpet-bag,  backed 
by  a  cane  and  hatred  to  imposition,  versus  the  whole 
blackguard  population  of  a  town.  Talk  of  Saragossa,  or 
the  storming  of  Badajoz  !  In  a  council  of  war,  it  was 
unanimously  agreed  to  resist  all  demands  beyond  five 
francs  for  the  porterage,  to  the  death.    The  boat  landed 


84 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


some  distance  from  the  town.  The  shore  was  crowded 
with  the  enemy:  on  they  rushed,  like  Cossacks  to  the 
spoils  1 

"  Ten  francs  !  ten  francs  !"  was  the  cry. 

"  Won't  give  more  than  five  !"  was  ^he  counter  salute. 

The  combat  thickened  : — we  were  attacked  in  front, 
flank,  and  rear.  The  carpet-bag  w^as  carried  by  a  coup 
de  main;"  the  white  trunk  surrendered  after  a  spirited 
resistance.  This  caused  a  division  of  our  forces,  the 
respective  owners  following  their  conquered  luggage,  like 
so  many  captives.  Still  the  struggle  raged.  We  deter- 
mined to  make  it  one  Thermopylae — but,  alas,  the  strap 
of  our  principal  trunk  gave  way,  and  we  were  finally  de- 
feated, with  the  loss  of  five  francs  and  an  indefinite 
amount  of  temper.  Oh  !  ye  victorious  porters  of  Avignon, 
had  I  but  my  college  trunk,  what  a  difierent  story  would 
my  annals  tell !  But  who  can  make  a  successful  stand 
with  such  pasteboard  things  as  these  ? 

This  Hotel  de  I'Europe  is  certainly  one  of  the  best  in 
France.  What  capital  fried  potatoes — and  then  the  spark- 
ling St.  Peray  !  After  a  hearty  dejeuner,  we  sallied  forth 
to  see  the  Papal  palace'.  It  is  remarkable  for  nothing  but 
its  immensity — a  heap  of  irregular,  massive  walls,  with 
lofty  towers,  at  least  150  feet  high.  It  is  now  a  barrack. 
Within  its  walls  was  passed  the  Babylonish  Captivity — a 
period  of  seventy  years — a  succession  of  seven  popes.  It 
also  held  Petrarch  as  a  guest,  and  Rienzi  as  a  prisoner. 
The  papal  throne  is  still  preserved,  and  the  balcony  from 
which  the  benediction  was  pronounced.  The  tomb  of 
Laura  has  disappeared,  and  her  ashes  have  suffered  equally  ^ 
with  her  reputation. 

I  shall  not  go  to  Vaucluse.  Firstly — because  I  am  no 
admirer  of  Petrarch :  — and  secondly — it  is  too  stormy. 
The  wind  rages  about  that  old  papal  reminiscence  as  if  the 
?!pirit  of  C?esar  Borgia  possessed  it.    What  a  set  of  luxii- 


OUR  FIRST  RUIN. 


*  85 


rious  scoundrels  those  Avignon  Popes  were !  Earthly 
sovereigns  and  heavenly  viceroys,  with  a  court  whose 
profligacy  stands  unrivalled  in  the  records  of  debauch. 
Wl^t  a  lesson  to  mankind  of  the  power  and  abuse  of  spiri- 
tual despotism  !    Will  they  profit  by  it  ?    I  think  not. 


LEAF  XIII. 

AVIGNON,  NISMES,  AND  ARLES. 

Marseilles,  18 — . 

On  our  journey  from  Avignon  to  Nismes  we  had  the 
benefit  of  a  very  clever  snow  storm,  which  prevented  our 
seeing  the  Pont  de  Gard ;  it,  however,  cleared  up  very 
beautifully  as  we  entered  the  town.  Here  commenced  the 
first  real  labor  of  sight-seeing.  There  was  an  immense 
Koman  amphitheatre  to  be  clambered  over — a  Roman  foun- 
tain to  be  inspected — and  judgment  to  be  passed  upon  the 
famous  Maison  Carree.  We  set  out  early  in  the  morning 
to  our  task.  It  was  my  first  lesson  in  taste.  In  my 
opinion  there  is  as  much  study  required  to  appreciate 
ruins  as  there  is  in  the  acquisition  of  a  language.  That 
much  abused  word  "picturesque,"  is  supposed  to  be  the 
all-sufficient  in  the  composition  of  decay ;  and  the  intelli- 
gence necessary  to  build  up  the  lost  fabric  is  considered 
entirely  superfluous.  One  stands  by  the  side  of  a  half  shat- 
tered edifice,  ignorant  of  its  architecture,  and  indifferently 
versed  m  its  era  and  history — an  even  more  ignorant 
guide  will  babble  of  its  uses,  and  the  thousand  probabili- 
ties, which  his  continued  repetition  has  reduced  to  facts. 

Does  it  please  the  eye  we  pronounce  it  beautiful,  and 
are  satisfied;  has  it  the  stoop  of  age— the  melancholy 

8 


8G  . 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


sliroud  of  ivy — we  call  it  ^'picturesque;" — do  we  wish  for 
information,  we  consult  Murray.  If  I  were  asked  for  a 
receipt  to  make  an  amateur,  I  should  prescribe  one-third 
Murray  to  a  full  dose  of  brass.  Such  a  man  would  became 
an  oracle.  I  do  remember  in  my  younger  days,  to  have 
studied  architecture;  but  I  must  confess  there  remains, 
at  this  moment,  with  me  a  very  contemptible  knowledge 
of  its  origin,  and  its  different  gradations  to  perfection. 

I  admire  the  Maison  Carree,  and  take  it  for  granted 
that  the  proportions  are  faultless;  but,  at  the  same  time,  I 
feel  certain  of  having  no  fixed  rule  to  graduate  its  merits, 
and  therefore  take  no  interest  in  a  critical  examination.  I 
must  use  it  for  the  present  as  a  mere  instructor — a  creator 
and  fashioner  of  a  correct  taste.* 

The  Amphitheatre  is  a  perfect  fac-simile  of  my  ideal — a 
vast  oval,  with  stone  seats  reaching  from  near  its  centre  to 
its  outer  rim,  step  after  step,  to  a  dizzy  height,  and  look- 
ing like  a  conqueror  of  ages.  Arch  upon  arch,  in  beauti- 
ful regularity,  supports  the  huge  fabric.  Nothing  could 
be  more  grand  and  imposing  than  this  simple  array  of 
seats. 

In  the  Maison  Carree  is  a  collection  of  paintings,  one 
of  which  struck  me  forcibly — it  is  Cromwell  by  the  dead 
body  of  Charles,  by  Le  Roche.  He  has  just  raised  the  lid 
of  the  coffin,  and  stands  contemplating  his  victim.  It  is 
life-like,  and  one  pauses  involuntarily  lest  one's  approach 
should  startle  the  usurper  from  his  fearless  meditation. 
The  costume  is  exact;  and  the  contrast  between  the  wan, 
cold  face  of  the  Stuart,  and  the  calm  yet  thoughtful — the 
stern,  yet  not  remorseless — gaze  of  Cromwell,  is  admira- 
ble ;  it  is  successful  ambition  at  the  goal  of  its  hopes,  yet 
not  unmoved  at  the  mournful  traces  of  its  triumphs.  It 
made  such  a  strong  impression  upon  me,  that  I  began  to 
doubt  the  historical  truth  of  the  assertion  that  Cromwell 
did  visit  the  corpse,  and  I  could  scarcely  bring  myself  to 


,AN  UNCOXSCIOUS  BLESSING. 


87 


believe  that  even  the  iron-hearted  Cromwell  would  dare  to 
seek  such  a  scene  alone,  at  the  dead  of  night.    My  nerves 
are  not  weak,  but  I  should  most  assuredly  have  absented 
myself  from  Whitehall  under  the  peculiar  circumstances. 
From  Nismes  to  Aries  we  had  part  railroad,  part  coach. 

T  ,  thinking  he  was  still  in  Germany,  took  our  seats  in 

what  was  called  the  wagon.  When  the  bell  rang  and  the 
gates  opened,  we  moved  under  a  weight  of  cloaks  and 
other  appurtenances  of  travel,  towards  the  train.  The 
conductor  pointed  out  our  locality — and,  heaven  knows  ! 
it  was  a  wagon  sure  enough,  without  top  or  seats.  The 
steam  began  to  fizz  and  we  began  to  fret.  Could  not 
think  of  travelling  in  that  affair — the  conductor  refused  to 
admit  us  into  the  regular  cars,  because  we  had  not  the 
necessary  ticket — would  not  hear  of  our  paying  the  differ- 
ence to  him — must  go  back  to  the  office.  The  train 
showed  symptoms  of  moving  off — no  other  chance  for 
Aries  that  day — should  also  miss  the  Marseilles  diligence. 
Affairs  grew  desperate.  I  was  about  to  seize  the  con- 
ductor by  the  nape  of  the  neck,  when  the  office  clerk  came 
along,  and  we  had  just  time  to  bundle  in,  bag  and  bag- 
gage, as  the  inexorable  engine  started.  I  employed  most 
of  the  time  to  Beaucaire  in  a  Billingsgate  assault  upon  the 
conductor;  but  he  was  fireproof,  and  had,  besides,  the 
hardihood  to  assert  that  I  spoke  bad  French.  My  con- 
science would  not  allow  me  to  dispute  that. 

At  Aries  we  got  a  miserable  dinner — a  misfortune  which 
I  tried  to  remedy  by  seeking  a  dessert  in  the  market 
place.  It  vras  a  lucky  hit,  for  I  met  as  angelic  a  face  as 
ever  woke  the  minstrelsy  of  Heaven.  It  banished  hunger, 
weariness,  and  vexation,  and  w^hile  the  unconscious  crea- 
ture turned  to  say  her  prayers  in  the  Cathedral,  she  little 
imagined  she  had  already  blessed  a  fellow  being,  and 
deserved  thanks  instead  of  bestowing  them.    So  much  for 


88 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


1 


the  unknown  benefits  wc  sometimes  lavish  unawares  !  Per- 
haps we  redeem  our  errors  in  some  such  manner.  Deli- 
cious doctrine  !  Seriously,  it  is  no  small  blessing  to  finish 
one's  dinner  with  the  music  of  a  lovely  face-tune.  It 
requires  a  great  delicacy  of  appetite  to  appreciate  the 
boon,  and  I  will  not  assert  that  it  could  be  all-sufficient  for 
an  entire  meal ;  still  it  goes  a  great  way,  and  I  have  my- 
self noticed  that  there  is  a  slighter  consumption  of  food  in 
dining  with  a  pretty  woman  than  with  an  ugly  one — always 
excepting  the  oyster  dish,  which  should  never  be  slighted, 
even  in  the  presence  of  beauty. 

Our  diligence  for  Marseilles  was  a  loose,  rickety  old 
machine ;  the  cushions  were  hard,  and  the  windows  any 
thing  but  air-tight ;  the  mistral,  too — a  mixture  of  all  the 
infernal  breath  of  boreas — was  blowing  terribly,  and  giving 
us  no  favorable  impression  of  the  much  vaunted  climate  of 
the  South  of  France.  We  did  not  get  to  Marseilles  until 
five  in  the  morning.  Like  a  sensible  man,  I  immediately 
crept  into  bed,  and  nothing  but  a  most  pressing  appetite 
had  the  slighest  influence  in  getting  me  out  again. 

I  don't  like  Marseilles.  It  is  a  dirty,  active,  commer- 
cial town,  with  an  innumerable  quantity  of  ugly  women, 
rowdy  sailors,  noisy  Savoyards,  and  brawling  politicians. 
The  opera  is  wretched  :  but  then  the  national  song  was 
born  here:  "  glory  enough,"  as  the  Sage  of  Lindenwald 
observed. 

Nice,  18—. 

A  French  "  dejeuner  a  la  fourchette"  is  usually  a  great 
luxury,  but  especially  so  when  it  follows  in  the  wake  of  a 
bad  dinner  and  a  tedious  night-ride.  I  can  scarcely  real- 
ize the  change.  But  a  few  hours  ago,  and  my  philosophy 
was  wrecked,  my  body  a  prey  to  cold  and  famine,  and  my 
very  identity  a  question; — and  now  my  humanity  could 


A  CRASH  AXD  A  WRECK. 


89 


embrace  creation,  and  my  content  be  the  envy  of  kings. 
The  very  sun  that  plays  upon  my  carpet,  the  air  that  idles 
'mid  these  orange  groves,  is  not  more  indifferent  tp  the 
fate  of  to-morrow  than  myself.  And  what  is  the  great 
cause  of  this  languid  satisfaction  ?  Fried  potatoes  and  a 
bottle  of  Beaune !  Smile  not,  ye  imitators  of  Lucullus — • 
"  Tall  oaks  from  little  acorns  grow."  The  annoyances  of 
travel  are  great ;  but  then  one  has  small  glimpses  of  para- 
dise occasionally.  Now  look  at  this-  garden  my  window 
opens  upon — profuse  in  exotics,  with  the  pomegranate  and 
the  orange  in  full  bloom  ;  feel  this  summer  air,  that  comes 
so  balmy  from  the  bosom  of  the  Mediterranean  ;  inhale  the 
fragrance  of  that  jessamine  and  clematis,  creeping  so  socia- 
bly into  my  very  chamber ;  gaze  upon  the  English  girl, 
Avith  her  wavy  hair,  pretending  to  read  in  that  arbor — and 
tell  me  if  there  is  not  a  feeling  of  happiness,  a  quiet  enjoy- 
ment, a  negative  kind  of  pshaw  !  there  is  no  real  plea- 

, sure  in  creation — it  is  all  ''leather  and  prunella,"  a  sort 
of  comparative  absence  of  misery.  I  am  deceived  by 
contrast  with  last  night. 

That  diligence  conductor !  Would  to  heaven  the  min- 
strel had  blown  him  from  the  top  of  the  Appenines  !  He 
brought  us  to  the  gates  of  Toulon  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning  ;  there  we  had  to  sit  and  wait  until  5 — the  hour 
for  opening  these  nonsensical  fortifications — with  the  wind 
howling  around  us  like  a  madman,  and  our  teeth  chatter- 
ing ridiculously.  When  we  did  get  into  the  town  at  last, 
here  was  a  delay  of  two  hours  before  setting  out  for  Nice. 

yNot  a  cafe  open  I    T  and  myself  strolled  towards  the 

dock,  and  were  met  with  the  "qui  vive"  of  a  sentinel. 
We  turned  back,  and  by  dint  of  hands  and  feet  aroused 
the  inmates  of  the  cafe.  A  bad  "  bavoiroise"  was  the 
only  result— better  than  nothing. 

At  7  we  got  started  again,  and  reached  Draguignan  at 

8* 


90 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


5  P.  M.  Here  we  were  fed  most  wretchedly  ;  but  then 
there  was  comfort  in  the  prospect  of  getting  to  Nice  by  7 
next  ijiorning.  Seven  o'clock  came — but  no  Nice.  I  was 
hungry  as  a  wolf,  had  slept  poorly,  and  the  air  came  with 
a  chilling  salutation  from  the  sea.  On  we  drove,  through 
olive  groves,  with  an  occasional  glance  of  the  Mediterra- 
nean, on  which  the  morning  sun  was  shining  gloriously  ; 
but  I  had  no  eye  for  the  beautiful  just  then,  and  my  only 
approach  to  pleasure  was  in  waking  the  conductor  every 
half  hour  to  inquire  the  distance  to  Nice.  The  villain 
sank  into  slumber  again  with  the  ease  of  a  negro.  What 
did  he  care  for  our  sufferings  ?  Had  I  been  the  Autocrat, 
Siberia  should  have  been  his  least  punishment. 

Eight — nine — ten  o'clock,  and  Nice  came  at  last  into 
si'ght.  The  worst  was  over  !  No,  not  yet — the  unqualified 
scoundrel  drove  us  under  the  scaffolding  of  a  house  just 
being  erected ;  one  of  the  logs  scraped  the  top  of  our  ve- 
hicle. Crash  !  went  something  to  the  earth.  I  felt  a  pre- 
sentiment of  evil.  I  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  beheld, 
oh,  fate  !  the  "  mangled  remains"  of  my  trunk  and  a  small 
w^ine  cask,  to  which  the  shock  of  the  fall  had  communi- 
cated an  unseasonable  "flow  of  spirits."  The  red  juice 
of  its  bacchanal  profusion  was  fast  reaching  my  wardrobe. 
I  smiled  sweeter  than  patience  ever  did  at  grief.  There 
could  be  nothing  beyond  this  but  destruction,  and  I  was 
resigned.  The  Christian  conquered  the  man.  With  the 
dignity  of  Hamlet's  ghost,  I  pointed  to  the  wreck  of  all 
my  worldly  goods,  and  requested,  in  the  softest  voice  ima- 
ginable, to  have  the  corpse  carried  with  care  to  my  hotel. 
Upon  the  conductor  I  disdained  to  look — the  expense  of 
striking  a  man  being  five  hundred  francs  and  upwards. 
But  now  I  forgive  the  wretch :  I  could  even  sign  a  peti- 
tion for  his  promotion. 


THE  KAIL  ROAD  OF  LIFE. 


91 


LEAF  XIV. 

NICE  REFLECTIONS. 

Nice,  18—. 

Nice  is  full  of  English,  consumptives,  and  orange  trees. 
The  climate  may  be  very  beneficial  to  invalids,  but  it 
strikes  me  as  being  too  variable.  Here  and  there  may  be 
a  sheltered  nook,  alike  free  from  "wind  and  cold  :  but  the 
presence  of  so  many  cloaks  under  a  burning  sun,  proves 
the  change  which  his  withdrawal  creates.  You  pass  fre- 
quently from  a  tropic  to  a  frigid  by  merely  turning  a  corner, 
and  the  wind  often  gives  chilling  evidence  of  its  presence. 
It  matters  little,  however,  where  the  physician  sends  you 
to  die,  for  he  never  advises  the  change  until  death  has  en- 
dorsed your  passport.  The  grave-yard  here  affords  as 
comfortable  accommodations  as  most  places.  The  sexton 
is  a  "  very  nice  sort  of  person,"  and  would  see  one  pro- 
perly stowed  away.  It  is  very  melancholy  to  observe 
these  hasty  candidates  for  Eternity  gliding  about — it 
makes  one  feel  so  insecure  ;  though  life  be  but  a  cloud-em- 
brace, still  we  don't  like  to  leave  in  the  early  train.  It  is 
one  of  the  few  expeditions  we  don't  want  to  start  upon,  and 
the  last  bell  finds  us  quite  as  unprepared  as  ever,  though 
w^e  have  not  a  particle  of  baggage  to  attend  to.  The  con- 
ductor is  inexorable,  and  wants  his  complement.  The  om- 
nibus is  there,  and  one  must  go  at  last.  Death's  invitation 
is  a  horrid  nervous  sort  of  thing — worse  than  putting  on  a 
new  hat  and  going  into  company.  What  an  absurd  idea 
of  the  ancients,  to  have  Charon  with  only  one  boat,  to 
row  us  across  the  Styx  !  Why,  it  would  be  another  small 
life-time  before  one's  turn  came  !    The  march  of  intellect 


92 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


has  been  at  Avork  there,  too,  and  we  probably  go  by  rail 
now  at  proportionate  periods :  1st  train  for  the  victims  of 
accident ;  2d,  consumptives  ;  3d,  mixed ;  and,  lastly,  the 
stragglers  who  hold  back  longest  with  the  aid  of  absti- 
nence and  devotion.  Whether  they  have  separate  cars 
for  the  women  is  a  question. 

Gexoa,  18—. 

We  have  now  been  five  days  in  Geneva  la  Superba." 
Rather  too  long  a  stay  ;  but  there  is  no  boat,  and  the  land 
journey  to  Leghorn  is  too  fatiguing.  There  is  not  much 
to  interest  me  here.  I  have  admired  the  beautiful  position 
of  the  '  town  from  all  sides — thfe  magnificent  street  of 
palaces — the  Saracenic  cathedral,  and  the  home  of  the 
great  Doria.  I  have  heard  the  enrapturing  "  II  Lom 
bardi"  of  the  new  composer,  Verdi,  and  seen  the  brilliant 
eyes  of  the  Marquisi  B  . 

As  a  general  thing,  the  Genoese  are  not  pretty.  Their 
costume  is  captivating  in  the  extreme.  The  loose  veil 
thrown  over  the  head  adds  greatly  to  this  appearance.  They 
walk  well,  too,  and  look  picturesque  when  kneeling  in  the 
dim  light  of  their  churches.  I  find  myself  really  in  Italy. 
I  asked  the  maitre  d'hotel  where  the  assignations  were 
made.  ''Go  to  church,"  says  he;  "you  won't  be  long 
finding  out." 

This  sounded  Italian ;  but  my  stock  of  the  bastard  Latin 
was  too  limited  to  take  advantage  of  such  opportunity. 

The  streets  of  Genoa,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  are 
very  narrow  and  very  crooked.  It  would  be  an  easy 
matter  to  jump  from  one  window  to  the  other,  and  the 
houses  on  each  side  are  so  high  that  you  see  but  a  sma'll 
patch  of  Heaven  between.  The  palaces  in  the  Strada  Nuova 
are  superb.  They  seemed  formed  to  laugh  at  time.  What 
a  glorious  place  this  must  have  been  in  the  days  of  its 
pride  !    When  all  this  silent  and  decaying  splendor  had  a 


A  NIGHT  ADYENTUEE. 


93 


soul — when  the  princely  Dorias  ruled  over  land  and  sea, 
and  the  light  of  incessant  revelry  flashed  along  these 
marble  walls !  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  Genoa's 
faded  glory  as  I  stood  last  night  in  the  ball-room  amid  the 
remnants  of  her  own  proud  nobility.  The  inmates  of 
these  lofty  palaces,  too  poor  to  light  their  festive  fires, 
were  content  to  sport  the  diamonds  of  generations  in  the 
foyer  of  a  theatre  !  And  yet  they  waltzed  and  laughed  as 
joyously  as  though  their  ancestral  halls  were  still  the  scene 
of  their  gaiety.  True  Philosophy  ! 

That  ball  was  a  pleasant  affair  !    Those  soft  bewildering 

eyes  of  the  Marquisi  B  haunt  me  still.    I  should  like 

to  wear  her  chain — say  one  little  month — she  looks  so  se- 
ductive— nonsense  !  she  is  a  mere  coquette :  I  saw  her 
give  that  very  identical  gaze  of  invitation,  which  sent  me 
to  Heaven,  to  a  bald-headed  Englishman — here  was  the 
Bting — I  will  not  give  her  another  thought ;  still  she  is 
deuced  nice  for  all  that.  Had  an  adventure  the  other  eve- 
ning, or  what  should  have  been  an  adventure.  I  started  out 
to  take  a  cruise  with  a  Frenchman,  who  came  with  us  from 
Nice.  He  seems  to  be  a  dealer  in  soap — at  least  he  had 
a  deuce  of  a  row  with  the  custom  house  officer  as  we  crossed 
the  border  on  account  of  some  French  soap  which  he  called 
mere  samples,  but  which  the  lord  of  the  customs  pro- 
nounced subject  to  duty.  Monsieur  protested — threatened 
the  vengeance  of  the  King :  the  searcher  of  trunks  was 
immoveable,  and  insisted  upon  the  payment  of  ten  francs  at 
least.  No  use  in  resisting,  so  the  money  was  paid ;  as  I 
condoled  with  the  unfortunate  man  of  soap,  he  showed 
some  gratitude,  and  volunteered  to  accompany  me  as  cice- 
rone in  my  nocturnal  prank.  I  had  not  determined  upon 
the  precise  nature  of  our  pursuit,  but  intended  to  be  guided 
by  circumstances.  We  had  hardly  reached  the  square  in 
front  of  the  Exchange,  when  an  offer  from  one  of  those 


94 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


I 


amorous  brokers,  who  frequent  that  spot,  greeted  us — 
"What  kind  of  a  demoiselle,"  says  I, — "  Is  she  a  native, 
has  she  the  true  Doria  stamp?"  "If  your  excellencies  J 
will  only  come  with  me  I  will  show  you  a  beauty,  a  mar- 
quisi," — "  lead  on  !"  says  my  guide,  and  away  we  went  in 
the  wake  of  the  mercantile  Cupid.  He  could  not  have 
been  more  than  ten  years  of  age — and  I  fervently  hoped 
he  might  one  day  receive  the  benefit  of  Sunday  School  in- 
struction— -just  at  that  moment  he  was  a  part  of  my  sys- 
tem of  amusement.  He  led  us  up  one  alley  and  down 
another,  through  a  perfect  labyrinth  of  passages;  the 
Frenchman  got  alarmed,  and  talked  of  retreating  ;  as  this 
word  is  not  in  my  vocabulary,  I  left  him,  and  continued 
the  hunt  close  upon  the  heels  of  the  boy.  He  stopped 
soon  after  before  the  entrance  of  a  high  antique-looking 
house — the  interior  was  dark  as  Erebus,  but  then  I  ima- 
gined the  Marquisi's  eyes  were  bright  enough  to  dispense 
with  gas  ;  as  a  precautionary  measure  I  took  hold  of  the 
boy's  coat  tail,  and  gave  the  order  to  proceed ;  up  we 
mounted — step  after  step — there  seemed  to  be  no  end  to 
the  distance — it  reminded  me  of  St.  Paul's  ;  he  paused  at 
last  in  the  middle  of  an  entry,  and  told  me  to  wait  a  mo- 
ment until  he  announced  my  approach  to  the  Aspasia  of 
the  establishment.  I  hesitated,  but  finally  released  my 
hold  upon  the  coat ,  he  disappeared  in  the  surrounding 
darkness,  and  there  I  was  in  a  narrow  passage,  black  as 
midnight,  ignorant  of  the  position  of  the  stairs,  and  unable 
to  advance  or  recede  without  danger  to  .my  neck;  I  had  no 
weapon  on  my  person,  and  no  faith  in  the  police.  Trap- 
doors and  assassins  flitted  before  my  eyes,  and  the  value 
of  my  purse  and  watch  increased  tenfold.  I  thought  of 
Florimel  in  the  Inconstant.  Then  the  idea  of  being  mur- 
dered in  a  low  bawdy  house — pardon  me  unknown  mar- 
quisi  ! — without  the  satisfaction  of  filling  a  respectable 


"the  gods  take  care  of  cato." 


95 


paragraph  in  the  newspapers  was  insufferable — what  would 
the  world  say  ? — the  victim  of  curiosity  and  adventure 
would  be  pronounced  a  "  bad  young  man,"  and  my  poor 
shattered  reputation  would  be  carried  about  piecemeal  in 
the  pockets  of  the  different  Mrs.  Candours  of  my  acquaint- 
ance. At  this  stage  of  my  reflections  I  heard  some  one 
groping  his  way  stealthily  towards  me — my  ears  were  sen- 
sitive to  the  slightest  noise,  and  the  sound  of  a  velvet  foot 
would  not  have  escaped  them — near  and  more  near  came 
the  fancied  murderer — now  or  never— I  rushed  forward  and 
threw  myself  upon  the  opposing  foe — my  "  prophetic  soul" 
was  wrong — it  was  only  Cupid  returning  to  announce  that 
Aspasia  was  engaged  with  some  happier  Pericles,  and  I 
turned  to  seek  the  Hotel  Feder,  perfectly  satisfied  with  the 
result.  The  Frenchman  received  me  with  open  arms,  re- 
garding it  as  a  special  resurrection — "  The  gods  take  care 
of  Cato" — but  the  next  time  I  visit  the  haunts  of  love  it 
shall  be  with  a  "bare  bodkin"  at  least.  I  idolize  excite- 
ment— but  there  is  no  sense  in  playing  the  Leander  on 
shore,  and  disappearing  in  some  Italian  mud-puddle. 

The  churches  begin  to  give  evidence  of  the  former 
wealth  and  superstition  of  Roman  Catholicism.  To  the 
bare  walls  and  Gothic  chastity  of  the  North,  have  suc- 
ceeded the  rich  abundance  of  Southern  ornament  and  the 
luxurious  outlay  of  Southern  profusion.  Spiritual  influ- 
ence stands  embodied  here  in  all  its  pomp.  Shrines  of 
untold  cost — pillars  of  the  rarest  stone — walls  encased  in 
marble — gilt  altars  and  frescoed  ceilings — all  attest  the 
enthusiasm  of  devotion ;  the  influence  of  priestly  power 
and  Papal  veneration.  Step  into  the  cathedral  at  what 
hour  you  will,  some  penitent  is  kneeling — some  juass  is  ^ 
saying — some  vesper  pealing.  Turn  to  the  other  chapels  on 
your  route,  the  same  scene  presents  itself :  one  crowd  of 
devotees  follows  another  in  successive  prayer,  and  were  it 


96 


AVILD  OATS,  SOAVN  ABROAD. 


not  for  the  wicked  glance  of  some  frail  worshipper,  as  she 
tells  her  rosary,  one  might  suppose  the  Genoese  world 
thought  but  of  Heaven.  Breathed  but  comprehended  not 
is  their  fervent  orison,  and  the  moral  light  of  Godhead 
streams  as  dimly  on  their  vision  as  the  dying  rays  of  the 
sun  fall  upon  the  deep  fret-work — the  faded  picturing  and 
the  hidden  sculpture  of  their  solemn  cathc^-al. 

Leghorn,  — . 

This  Thompson's  Hotel  is  a  forlorn  affair — Murray's 
recommendation  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding.  Dirty 
linen  and  bad  attendance  are  the  acme  of  worthlessness. 
Thank  fortune !  it  won't  last  long !  We  came  from 
Genoa  in  the  steamer  "Ocean,"  and  such  a  steamer! 
Eight  berths  to  about  forty  passengers.  Most  of 
those  she  had  brought  from  Marseilles  left  her,  as 
unseaworthy,  upon  their  arrival  at  Genoa;  but  we  were 
too  anxious  to  get  off  to  regard  that  circumstance.  Her 
machinery  moved  with  a  sort  of  spasmodic  effort,  and  I  ex- 
pected every  moment  to  see  it  expire.  The  piston  rod  had 
such  a  languishing  manner  that  I  could  easily  have  written 
my  name  upon  it  before  its  return  to  the  cylinder,  had 
I  not  feared  the  increased  pressure  of  the  pencil  might 
stop  its  movement  altogether.  But  the  night  was  clear, 
and  the  sea  calm  as  a  stoic.  The  berthless  parties  lay 
strewed  about  on  the  coffee-bags  and  canvas  that  crowded 
the  deck.  I  took  up  a  position  near  the  boiler,  with  the 
two-fold  prospect  of  warmth  and  short-work,  in  case  of 
explosion.  But  an  explosion  is  an  unknown  experiment, 
as  I  afterwards  learned.  There  was  quite  a  pretty  young 
French  girl  shared  my  coffee-bag ;  but  a  sharp  attack  of 
sea-sickness  destroyed  the  effect  of  some  trifling  amiabili- 
ties which  I  had  bestowed  upon  her.  Neptune  was  too 
powerful  a  rival  for  me  to  vie  with,  so  I  hnndcd  her  over 


THE  TKIUMPHS  OF  NEPTUNE. 


97 


to  his  attention.  Her  sisters  soon  followed  suit,  and  it  was 
ludicrous  to  see  the  despair  which  seized  upon  the  camp  at 
the  approach  of  this  marine  a'ssault.  Thej  had  crouched 
amidships,  surrounded  with  blankets  and  sheets,  like  a  Gipsy 
party.  Anon  they  rose  and  stalked  about  like  phantoms 
in  their  unearthly  shrouds.  Another  moment,  and  they 
stood  in  admirable  disorder  along  the  balustrade  of  the 
steamer,  gazing  into  the  sea.  The  agony  had  come.  What 
to  them  was  the  "  deeply,  darkly,  beautiful  blue  ?" — what  the 
pale  stars  and  the  unwritten  poetry  of  the  Ideal  ? — the 
music  of  the  mermaid  and  the  love  inciting  breath  of  the 
pure  Heaven  ?  Nothing.  Their  whole  existence  was  nar- 
rowed down  to  a  horrid  something  indicated  by  no  equivo- 
cal position  of  the  hand.  Yes  !  it  was  a  reality !  The 
things  of  yesterday  and  to-day  were  before  their  eyes — 
^'relics  of  joy" — fleeting  and  painful. 

What  a  damnable  nuisance  the  liver  is  !  The  morning 
sun  shone  gaily  on  the  pale  faces  of  our  Gipsy  party  as 
we  rode  into  the  dock.  Here  we  had  to  wait  one  hour 
for  a  clean  bill  of  health  before  we  could  land,  assailed 
all  the  time  by  a  host  of  boatmen.  Our  permit  came, 
and  we  jumped  into  the  nearest  boat.  In  it  was  the 
Marquisi  Seatti,  a  gay,  vicious-looking  Milanese,  with  a 
husband  twice  as  old  as  herself,  and  ugly  as  a  tallow- 
candle.    On  our  way  to  shore,  T  and  myself  indulged 

in  sundry  English  remarks  on  the  beauty  of  the  wife  and 
the  hideousness  of  the  owner.  Methouglit  the  Marquisi's 
eyes  sparkled  as  her  hand  played  with  the  water  of  the 
bay.  But  there  was  no  time  for  close  observation,  as  the 
land-sharks  were  already  upon  us,  and  our  luggage  cap- 
tured. I  resigned  myself  to  fate,  and  followed  to  the 
hotel,  paid  exorbitantly,  and  have  since  discovered  that 
our  boat  should  have  landed  us  at  the  very  door. 

We  arc  progressing  rapidly  in  our  knowledgA^fltf  4j^ks 
G  9 

•  DUSE  UBftAJI? 


98 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


upon  travellers.  Nothing  like  experience !  We  went  to 
a  mask  ball,  given  the  evening  of  our  arrival.  It  was  a 
slim  affair — few  maskers,  but  plenty  of  spectators.  The 
girls  in  the  boxes  were  handsome — a  compound  of  Jew 
and  Italian.  There  was  very  little  dancing.  Most  of  the 
parties  seemed  satisfied  with  promenading  about  and  loll- 
ing in  the  balcony.  They  must  have  a  poor  idea  of  real 
bal  masque. 

In  the  public  square  I  saw,  for  the  first  time,  an 
itinerant  vender  of  elixirs,  a  regular  Dulcemara.  He 
was  standing  in  an  open  barouche,  and  haranguing 
the  crowd  upon  the  merits  of  a  plaster  which  he  held 
in  his  hand.  A  more  fluent  orator  never  addressed 
a  mass  meeting.  It  was  astonishing  what  an  effect 
he  produced.  I  could  not  understand  his  language, 
but  his  gesture  was  inimitable.  At  the  close,  many 
purchasers  advanced,  fully  persuaded  of  the  unfailing 
sanitary  power  of  the  preparation.  The  quack  himself 
was  an  oddity.  A  real  Italian  face,  with  a  shabby 
hat  and  a  tremendous  shirt  collar,  which  served  as 
a  sort  of  barricade  to  a  heavy  pair  of  whiskers,  and 
contrasted  strongly  with  a  rose-tinted  nose,  which  threat- 
ened explosion  to  any  powder  magazine  within  firing 
distance.  Such  florid  characters  are  not  found  out  of 
Italy.  She  certainly  has  the  honor  of  producing  the 
most  perfect  specimen  of  vagabond  in  creation.  There 
must  be  something  in  the  soil — or  is  it  the  Pope  ?  Poor 
"Italia!"  verily,  thy  "dower  is  present  woe!"  Thou 
hast  quaffed  deeply  of  the  cup  of  conquest,  and 
played  the  spoiler  till  the  very  earth  grew  weary  of 
thy  ponderous  weight,  and  now  art  thou  partitioned 
out  like  old  stray  trinkets  among  the  vandal  dynasties 
thou  didst  quicken  into  life.  Thy  people  have  scarcely 
a  national  character  left,  and  strangers  do  stare  at  thee 


THE  MARQUISl'S  FOOT ! 


99 


through  their  eje-glasses,"  and  wonder  over  the  frag- 
ments of  thv  still  regal  toilet. 

T          talks  of  changing  his  route,  and  going  through 

Pisa  to  Florence.  I  am  sorry,  but  cannot  help  it.  My 
way  leads  along  the  shore  of  the  Mediterranean.  Our 
passports  begin  to  grow  troublesome  and  expensive.  Thej 
are  only  intended  as  a  support  for  government  loafers.  I 
for-ot  to  visit  the  tomb  of  Smollet.    Must  attend  to  that 

o 

in  the  morning.    Oh  !  the  toil  of  travel. 


LEAF  XV. 

ARRIVAL  AT  NAPLES. 

Hotel  New  York,  Naples. 

Here  have  we  "pitched  our  tent"  for  at  least  three 
weeks — long  enough  for  a  good  breathing  spell.  Our 
quarters  are  comfortable — terms  reasonable.  My  window 
looks  out  upon  the  world-renowned  bay,  with  Ischia  and 
Vesuvius  in  the  distance.  The  landlord  talks  English, 
and  altogether  I  promise  myself  a  pleasant  sojourn. 

Our  trip  from  Leghorn  was  much  more  satisfactory  than 
our  previous  experience  had  led  us  to  expect.  We  had  a 
good  steamer  and  an  excellent  captain.  The  first  object 
that  saluted  me  as  I  touched  the  dock,  was  the  roguish 
eyes  of  the  Marchesi  Seatti.  There  was  a  singular  in- 
telligence in  their  glance, — not  disguised  during  the 
course  of  my  English  remarks  with  T  at  the  dinner- 
table,  and  it  was  afterwards  explained  by  Captain  Olive 
informing  me  that  the  Marquisi  spoke  English  as  well  as 


100 


WILD   OATS,  SOWS  ABROAD. 


I  did  ;  but,  very  fortunately  for  me,  her  husband  wag 
Vnacquninted  Avith  the  language,  or  "  pistols  and  coffee" 
might  have  been  requisite.  Had  I  been  at  all  doubtful  of 
this  fact,  it  would  have  been  confirmed  by  the  decided  per- 
tinacity with  which  she  always  exhibited  her  foot  after  my 
remarking  to  T  ,  as  she  stepped  into  the  boat  at  Leg- 
horn, that  it  would  be  an  excusable  adoration  to  kiss  the 
Pope's  foot,  if  it  was  any  thing  like  the  Marquisi's.  She 
left  us  at  Civita  Yecchia,  and  as  I  raised  my  hat  to  return 
her  flattering  bow,  a  smile  of  mischievous  sweetness  played 
upon  her  face ;  she  had  overreached  me,  but  if  we  ever 
meet  again,  I  will  pay  her  back  with  interest.  She  is  wel- 
come to  my  opinion,  and  if  there  is  any  truth  in  eyes,  she 
did  not  dissent  from  my  estimate  of  her  own  and  her  hus- 
band's qualities.    I  must  be  more  careful  hereafter. 

The  sea  became  very  rough  as  we  left  the  harbor  of 
Civita  Yecchia,  and  they  took  advantage  of  it  to  give  us 
our  dinner.  Rather  a  thin  table.  T — ■ —  could  scarcely 
conceal  his  emotion  at  sight  of  the  soup,  and  retired  to  his 
sofa.  I  survived  three  courses,  but  found  fresh  air  indis- 
pensable, so  mounted  upon  deck.  Here  I  found  fast- 
coming  darkness  and  a  pretty  stiff  breeze.  The  excite- 
ment revived  me  some,  and  Captain  Olive  came  finally  to 
the  rescue,  took  me  into  his  own  cabin,  and  over  his 
stories,  flavored  with  good  brandy  and  water,  I  soon  forgot 
the  demon.  There  we  sat,  until  near  midnight,  dwelling 
upon  the  beauty  of  women  and  steam. 

When  I  returned  to  the  cabin,  I  found  an  impudent 
Frenchman  occupying  the  spot  allotted  to  me.  It  was  a 
shelf  close  to  the  stern-lights.  It  was  bad  enough  to  have 
no  berth  or  sofa  at  all,  but  it  became  insufferable  when 
your  only  miserable  place  of  refuge  was  invaded  in  this 
manner.  My  brandy  potations  had  been  too  deep  to  par- 
ley long,  so  I  woke  the  steward,  and  asked  him  if  platform 
No.  70  belonged  to  me. 


BEAUTIES  OF  NAPLES'  BAT. 


101 


Undoubtedly,"  says  he. 

Then  go  and  summon  that  Frenchman  to  descend."  • 

The  steward  obeyed.  But  Monsieur  did  not  feel  the 
force  of  his  remarks,  nor  the  justice  of  my  claim,  and 
merely  grumbled  out  a  positive  refusal.  This  was  suffi- 
cient— equal  to  a  declaration  of  war.  I  mounted  the  plat- 
form, seized  the  croaking  sleeper  by  his  woolen  night-cap 
— it  was  his  weak  point ! 

He  screamed  out,  "Doucement — doucement.  Monsieur!" 
(gently — gently,  sir  ;)  and  was  on  the  floor  of  the  cabin 
before  I  had  time  to  finish  the  demonstration. 

He  muttered  something  like  "  Quelle  fureur !"  (what 
excitement,)  and  started  to  play  the  porcupine  some  place 
else,  while  I  climbed  into  the  vacated  'throne,  and  dreamed 
of  Marchesi  Seatti. 

We  entered  the  bay  of  Naples  some  three  hours  after 
sunrise.  It  was  a  delightful  morning.  The  sea  had 
calmed,  and  whole  fleets  of  fishing  craft  lay  scattered 
around  us.  The  approach  to  Naples,  though  extrava- 
gantly extolled,  deserves  all  the  praise  bestowed  upon  it. 

It  bears  no  similarity  whatever  to  New  York  Bay. 
They  are  as  different  in  their  respective  beauties,  as  land 
and  water  well  can  be.  Both  have  their  claims,  and  it  is 
a  difficult  matter  to  decide  to  which  the  preference  belongs. 
The  accessories  here  are  certainly  great  additions  to  its 
beauty.  There  is  Baiai,  St.  Elmo,  Vesuvius,  Castelemare, 
Salerno,  the  islands  Ischia  and  Capri;  each  in  themselves 
would  establish  the  scenic  reputation  of  any  locality. 
What  then  must  be  their  effect  in  combination  ?  For  my 
part,  cold  as  my  eye  is  to  the  beauties  of  inanimate  nature, 
I  can  sit  by  the  hour  and  look  out  upon  this  enchanting 
scene.  Whether  it  is  the  languid  influence  of  the  climate 
or  a  new  sense  before  undeveloped,  I  know  not ;  but  cer- 
tain it  is  I  feel  no  more  that  Avearisome  ennui  of  idleness, 

9* 


102 


WILD  OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


and  time  flies  as  rapidly  in  my  objectless  occupation,  as  it 
^vonld  in  the  hour  of  activ^e  pleasure. 

I  have  become  a  real  dreamer.  From  the  life  and 
bustle  of  the  Via  Toledo,  I  find  myself  turning  to  the 
quiet  TNalks  of  the  Villa  Reale,  to  watch  the  tideless  flow 
of  the  Mediterranean.  I  am  not  in  love.  Therefore  it 
must  be  the  climate  that  has  produced  this  revolution  in 
my  temperament.  This  it  is  makes  the  lazzaroni  the  child 
of  nobody — who  does  nothing — lives  on  nothing.  The 
climate  is  his  creator  and  support.  He  is  a  being  as  dis- 
tinctly separated  from  his  fellow-citizens  in  feelings,  habits, 
and  inclinations,  as  the  terrapin  is  from  the  fish.  He 
holds  about  the  same  rank  in  the  social  system  that  the 
oyster  does  in  the  animal  kingdom  ;  and  if  only  the 
Almighty  had  endowed  him  with  a  shell  to  crawl  into  at 
certain  seasons,  the  lazzaroni  would  be  the  most  fortunate 
of  creatures.  As  it  is,  he  consoles  himself  with  lodging 
in  a  fish-basket  during  the  summer,  and  disappears  like 
the  swallow  in  winter.  This  mode  of  life  has  its  advan- 
tages :  family  cares,  family  loves,  and  family  quarrels,  are 
alike  unknown  to  him  ;  and  when  you  see  the  little  lazza- 
roni crawling  about  like  a  mud  turtle  on  a  log,  you  take  it 
for  granted  he  is  a  spontaneous  growth,  not  to  be  recog- 
nized by  the  census  ;  he  costs  the  government  nothing, 
and  his  parental  claims  are  more  visionary  than  the  profits 
of  the  South  Sea  Company.  In  this  respect  the  lazzaroni 
is  excessively  fashionable.  It  would  be  a  positive  vulga- 
rity to  recognise  his  offspring.  He  gives  the  brat  an 
existence,  and  casts  him  into  the  market-place,  as  though 
he  was  hurling  a  planet  into  its  orbit.  Instinct  and  cli- 
mate do  the  rest.  The  infant  lazzaroni  expands  into  a 
red  cap  and  a  piece  of  blanket;  he  is  then  fit  for  society, 
and  becomes  a  frequenter  of  the  Mole.  When  not  in  a 
state  of  torpidity,  he  is  either  being  amused  at  the  ha- 


"natural  history  of  the  lazzaroni."  103 


rangue  of  the  improvisatore,  or  playing  sentinel  over  a 
stem  of  old  segar  stumps,  paraded  before  him  like  soldiers, 
upon  brown  paper.  These  figments  "of  tobacco  are  his 
real  estate :  hence  his  income,  and  woe  betide  that  minis- 
ter who  would  dare  to  tax  it.  It  keeps  all  his  ingenuity 
alive  to  prevent  the  encroachments  of  his  fellow  lazzaroni 
upon  his  stock.  I  have  seen  the  title  to  one-sixteenth  of  a 
segar  stump  disputed  with  as  much  ability  as  the  Girard  will 
case  ;  and  invariably  during  the  conirse  of  the  argument, 
the  subject  matter  would  disappear  most  mysteriously. 
#  When  a  lazzaroni  once  reaches  the  rental  of  a  terni  per 
day, — which  is  about  a  half-cent, — he  becomes  a  capitalist, 
and,  were  they  a  business  community,  would  be  quoted  on 
'change.  It  is  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that  the  lazza- 
roni is  a  consumer  of  maccaroni ;  that  is  a  delicacy  far 
beyond  his  means,  and  it  is  only  after  ransacking  the 
pocket  of  some  stranger,  and  disposing  of  the  spoil,  that  he 
indulges  in  any  extravagance  of  that  kind.  Melon  is  his 
principal  article  of  food,  and  this  only  after  it  has  passed 
through  first  hands.  You  will  always  find  him  lying  in 
wait  for  a  dinner  at  the  melon  merchants,  and  the  half- 
eaten  particle  passes  out  of  your  hands  to  run  the  gauntlet 
through  a  row  of  hungry  applicants,  until  it  degenerates 
into  the  smallest  possible  piece  of  rind,  which  is  magnani- 
mously left  in  the  street  for  the  chiffonnier  to  gather  up. 
When  the  lazzaroni  wears  out — for  he  never  dies — they 
drop  him  into  the  Campo  Santo,  wardrobe  and  all,  without 
the  formality  of  a  dirge  or  the  discord  of  a  will.  Your 
Diogenes  was  a  fool  compared  to  these  fellows.  He  was 
an  inferior  sort  of  ancient  lazzaroni,  and  yet  the  world 
calls  him  a  philosopher  par  excellence,  while  a  thousand 
real  philosophers  doze  unnoticed  along  that  sunny  market- 
place ;  but  things  are  changed,  and  what  once  was  honored 
as  splendid  stoicism,  this  active  age  calls  shameless  indo- 


104 


WILD    OATS,  SOWX  ABROAD. 


lence.  The  police  don't  allow  men  to  live  in  tubs  now-a- 
days.  It  would  be  evading  the  house-tax,  and  any  eccen- 
tric character  who  might  be  found  running  about  with  a 
"Lantern,"  would  be  indicted  for  burglarious  intent. 


LEAF  XVI. 

IN  AND  ABOUT    NAPLES.  ^ 

Hotel,  New  York,  Naples. 
The  last  day  of  the  Carnival  here  was  not  celebrated 
with  much  ardor ;  the  rain  interfered  with  the  frolic,  and, 
after  one  or  two  turns  in  the  Via  Toleda,  the  maskers 
retired.  The  San  Carlos  closed  that  night, — they  gave  us 
an  opera  and  ballet.  The  theatre  is  immense,  but  badly 
lighted.  It  was  crowded  to  suffocation.  Th'e  ballet  corps 
is  one  of  the  finest  I  have  yet  seen.  The  first  danseuse, 
without  being  an  Eilsler,  was  a  most  graceful,  captivating 
creature — and,  strange  to  say,  is  called  positively  "  sage." 
I  am  sorry  that  Lent  has  put  a  stop  to  the  theatrical 
season. 

We  went  yesterday  to  the  Musee  Borbonico.  The  col- 
lection of  paintings  did  not  please  me  so  much  as  I  had 
anticipated.  But  the  marbles  are  superb — I  expect  to  see 
nothing  finer  at  Rome  or  Florence.  There  is  a  draped 
Aristides  beyond  all  praise.  The  ideal  cannot  conceive 
any  thing  more  characteristic  of  the  calm,  proud,  upright 
victim  of  popular  frailty  than  is  stamped  upon  those 
marble  features.  It  is  the  very  personification  of  conscious 
rectitude — half  indignant — half  lamenting  the  littleness  of 
human  nature.    The  hand  is  the  only  limb  visible;  and 


THE  TRUE  VEXUS. 


105 


the  dignity  of  the  attitude  greatly  enhanced  by  this  com- 
plete folding  of  the  person  in  the  majesty  of  drapery.  It 
looks  so  natural,  yet  is  so  unlike  every-day  apparel.  The 
Flora  is  airiness  itself,  although  colossal.  The  famous 
group  called  "il  Tauro  Farnese"  I  could  not  exactly 
understand.  Are  they  tying  the  woman  to  the  bull  ?  or 
are  they  releasing  her  ?  I  have  no  classical  dictionary 
with  me,  and  have  forgotten,  if  T  ever  knew  the  story.  It 
is  very  spirited,  and  the  sculptor  who  restored  the  bull's 
head  deserves  a  monument.  The  Farnese  Hercules  stands 
in  the  same  room  with  "  II  Tauro."  The  great  skill  of  the 
ancient  sculptor  is  apparent  in  this  statue.  What  under 
other  hands  must  have  become  a  mere  clumsy  mass  of 
muscles,  presents  here  the  finest  combination  of  natural 
proportion  and  evident  strength,  not  the  impression  of 
mere  size — but  real  beauty  of  shape  and  ease  of  limb. 
Among  a  host  of  Venuses  is  the  Venus  Callipyge — she 
who  successfully  disputes  the  pretensions  of  the  Medici, — 
and  a  sweet  creation  she  is  I  not  the  modest,  startled, 
timid  novice,  that  genius  delights  to  represent  her — but 
the  saucy,  warm,  inviting  Queen  of  Love,  whose  life  was 
one  voluptuous  sea  of  passion,  and  whose  character  was 
neither  shy,  bashful,  nor  intellectual.  I  have  seen  tole- 
rably correct  copies  of  the  Medici  and  the  Venus  of  the 
Capitol.  As  embodiments  of  the  purely  ideal,  they  seem 
perfect.  Finer  forms  never  blessed  the  fancy.  They  are  the 
very  type  of  love's  young  dream.  But,  still,  not  the  Venus 
of  Cyprus — who  was  a  thing  to  feed  on — an  every  day 
enjoyment — a  real  woman  !  They  are  mere  Nympholepsies, 
and  could  Pygmalion  give  life  to  the  Venus  de  Medici 
to-morrow,  his  passion  would  calm  itself  to  sleep  under  the 
gaze  of  her  cold,  unearthly,  intellectual  face.  She  looks 
the  essence  of  pure  Platonism,  whose  serenity  of  soul  no 
emotion  could  ever  ruffle — and  yet  they  call  her  the  repre- 


106 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


sentative  of  a  goddess  -who  was  entirely  and  completely  a 
woman,  with  all  a  woman's  charms,  her  faults,  her  follies, 
and  her  feelings.  Look  at  that  delicate  head  of  the 
Medici,  that  lofty  brow,  that  thin,  unsensual  lip,  that 
shrinking  expression,  and  tell  me  if  it  conveys  a  cor- 
rect idea  of  her  who  cuckolded  Vulcan,  flirted  with  Mars  and 
ravished  Adonis.  As  the  wanton  Goddess  of  Love,  the 
Naples  Venus  stands  unrivalled.  The  attitude  alone  is 
decisive,  it  is  so  original — the  half-turned  head,  the  playful 
uplifting  of  the  robe,  the  careless  exposure  of  the  limbs, 
the  coquettish  manner,  all  bespeak  the  enchanting  art  of 
the  fair  Cyprian.  Then  the  expression  of  the  face  is  so 
characteristic,  mischievous,  confident  and  tantalizing,  full 
of  warmth  and  sensibility,  yet  disposed  to  make  you  woo 
before  you  win.  The  right  breast  and  shoulder  can  truly 
challenge  Nature,  Nor  is  classical  correctness  of  feature 
the  least  charming  part  of  her  face.  There  was  a  young 
French  girl  looking  rather  superciliously  at  the  legs,  as  if 
she  could  present  a  better  pair  if  allowed  to  mount  the 
pedestal.  But  such  comparison  would  be  dangerous  for 
any  legs  that  have  yet  come  under  my  observation,  and  I 
have  seen  not  a  few  good  ones  in  my  time. 

The  gem  of  the  collection,  in  my  poor  opinion,  is  a  muti- 
lated head  of  Psyche.  There  is  little  left  save  the  face — • 
but  such  a  face  !  It  has  the  very  expression  which  I  always 
thought  impossible  for  the  sculptor  to  give  to  marble — which 
I  have  never  before  seen,  and  Avhich  I  never  expect  to  see 
again.  The  stronger  passions  of  agony,  pride,  disdain, 
breathe  under  the  chisel — as  also  the  calm,  reflective, 
passionless  caste  of  beauty ;  but  there  is  a  half  melan- 
^  choly,  subdued  sweetness  of  face,  the  impression  of  which 
the  sculptor  labors  in  vain  to  efl'ect.  The  absence  of  the 
eye,  so  necessary  to  accomplish  this,  seems  too  decisive  to 
be  counterbalanced  by  his  skill.    The  face  of  the  Sphyns 


LOVE  AND  DEVOTION. 


107 


approaches  nearest  to  it.  Still,  there  is  too  great  an  air 
of  meditation — not  enough  of  feeling — in  fact,  mind  is  too 
evidently  the  predominating  power  in  all  marble  faces  in 
repose.  True,  the  Venus  Callipyge  has  warmth,  but  it  is 
the  warmth  of  mere  lasciviousness,  which  is  gained  bj 
*giving  a  voluptuous  manner  or  attitude.  The  Psyche 
alone  embodies  the  idea  of  the  pure,  strong,  earthly 
love ;  she  alone  possesses  that  unutterable  gentleness — 
that  thoughtful  presence  of  emotion  which  ought  to  accom- 
pany it ; — the  downcast  look,  the  softly  veiled  anxiety,  the 
dejected  bend  of  the  head,  are  there ; — the  joy  that  was — 
the  sadness  that  is — the  sorrow  that  may  be — are  all 
blended  in  exquisite  harmony,  and  you  pause  to  watch  her 
soul  awake  from  its  sleep.  The  history  of  earth's  most 
beautiful  passion,  in  all  its  phases,  breathes  in  that  eloquent 
fragment.  I  shall  certainly  have  a  hand  in  the  next  revo- 
lution in  Naples,  if  it  is  only  to  take  advantage  of  the 
commotion  to  steal  Psyche.  Some  future  Massaniello  may 
be  loafing  in  the  sun  at  this  present  moment,  biding  his 
time.  If  it  were  not  for  Austria,  it  would  be  an  easy 
matter  to  upset  this  throne.  The  soldiers  never  fight, 
and  the  king  has  no  other  support,  as  he  farms  out  all 
the  ofiices — receiving  a  stated  sum  for  each  monopoly. 
Beautiful  system !  Not  at  all  liable  to  abuse !  Why, 
the  custom  house  officer  ran  after  me  to  the  hotel  to 
get  his  bribe.  I  discharged  him  with  a  lecture  upon 
breach  of  trust — but  it  was  labor  lost,  as  he  did  not 
understand  me. 

Thus  far  the  Italian  women  have  disappointed  me. 
With  the  exception  of  the  Genoese  Marchise,  I  have  not 
seen  a  decidedly  handsome  woman.  They  have  brilliant 
eyes,  and  hair  like  midnight ;  but  they  don't  look  clean, 
are  badly  dressed,  and  have  miserable  limbs.  There  seems 
to  be  no  middle  class  of  society  among  them :  over- 


108 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


dressed  ladies  and  under-dressed  slovens  are  the  whole 
extent  of  the  division.  They  have  but  two  occupations — 
love  and  devotion.  The  morality  of  the  upper  classes  I 
know  nothing  about, — rumor  makes  it  bad  enough  :  that 
of  the  lower  classes  is  below  par. 

I  called  with  an  Italian  friend  upon  the  first  danseuse  ot  i 
the  San  Carlo ;  after  ascertaining  my  intentions  she  de- 
clined the  honor,  but  recommended  me  to  her  sister;  this 
almost  rivalled  Cato — but  it  was  outdone  by  a  Maltese, 
who  after  several  attempts  to  please  my  fastidious  taste 
presented  me  to  a  young  girl  of  scarcely  fourteen — who 
spoke  three  languages,  and  was  desirous  of  finishing  her 
accomplishments  by  becoming  a  mistress  ;  after  pronoun- 
cing upon  her  merits,  I  asked  her  origin  and  the  terms  of 
purchase — the  girl  was  her  own  daughter,  and  the  equiva- 
lent was  eight  Napoleons ;  I  smiled  as  I  thought  of  our 
missionaries  converting  the  heathen.  Last  evening  near 
the  Palace,  I  met  a  blind  man  led  by  a  good  specimen  of 
Italian  beauty — dark  complexion,  stealthy  eye,  all  fire  and 
softness,  prominent  breast  and  magnificent  head  of  hair- 
partly  from  pity,  more  from  admiration,  I  poured  a  lot  of 
small  coin  into  her  extended  hand — she  looked  at  them  a 
moment  with  sparkling  eyes,  then  smiling  most  graciously 
asked  me  when  I  would  come  to  see  her ;  so  much  for  my 
own  experience  of  Naples'  morality.  Perhaps  a  vain  man 
might  find  some  palliation  for  such  conduct  in  his  own  as- 
sassinating qualities;  but  excess  of  flattery  would  hardly 
dare  to  rank  me  beyond  the  deucedly  genteel,  or  the 
quietly  insinuating. 

POMPEII. 

We  have  visited  Pompeii  and  Herculaneum.  It  was  a 
good  day's  work.  The  former  is  particularly  interesting. 
Some  workmen  were  still  employed  in  excavating.    It  is 


THE  MORALITY  OF  POMPEII. 


109 


quite  a  slow  process.  The  French,  during  their  occupa- 
tion accomplished  more  in  that  short  time  than  the  present. 
Government  have  jet  done.  According  to  the  map,  full 
two-thirds  of  the  citj  still  remain  buried;  but  it  is  pro- 
bable that  the  best  portion  has  been  brought  to  light.  The 
collection  formed  from  this  disentombed  city,  in  the  Musee 
Borbonico,  is  immense.  Mosaics,  frescoes,  sculpture,  gems 
— all  that  bespeaks  perfection  of  art  and  civilization  is 
crowded  in  overwhelming  evidence  of  the  luxury,  genius 
and  refinement  of  these  people.  In  the  "  Secret  Cabinet," 
too,  is  also  ^he  damning  confirmation  of  a  lasciviousness 
and  wanton  brutality  which  can  even  shame  the  modern 
French  metropolis.  It  would  seem  as  if  excess  of  civili- 
zation necessarily  denaturalized  mankind,  and  while  exter- 
nal beauty  wooed  the  eye  in  every  shape,  instead  of  eleva- 
ting, it  degraded  the  senses.  It  is  both  melancholy  and 
humiliating  to  wander  through  these  empty  rooms,  stripped 
of  their  ornaments,  save  here  and  there,  some  fragment 
of  Mosaic  or  some  half-obliterated  fresco, — and  to  think 
that  all  our  efforts  are  bounded  by  a  bourne  long  since 
reached  in  these  unburied  walls,  and  that  our  boasted 
march  of  intellect  has  had  a  parallel  in  the  calendar  of 
time.  The  seal  of  two  thousand  years  has  been  removed, 
and  we  discover  the  corpse  of  a  mere  provincial  town  of 
the  Roman  Empire,  arrayed  in  more  than  the  laborious 
splendor  of  our  most  exalted  capitals.  Pshaw !  We  are 
but  imitators  !  I  shall  not  be  at  all  astonished  if  they 
dig  up  a  steam  engine  some  day  in  one  of  the  Roman 
villas. 

The  most  singular  feature  of  Pompeii,  to  me,  was  the 
presence  of  tombs  on  the  public  street,  and  the  existence 
of  an  assignation  house  immediately  opposite  the  Temple 
of  the  Vestal  virgins, — the  latter  was  rather  a  suspicious 
circumstance.    We  had  a  French  viscount  with  us,  whose 

10 


110 


yvlLD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


highest  eulogium  was  tres  original."  He  could  not  get 
•beyond  that.  He  -wore  a  Grecian  cap,  and  carried  his 
sketch-book  under  his  arm ;  but  his  artistical  labors  began 
and  ended  with  an  elaborate  attempt  upon  the  outline  of  a 
baker's  machine  for  grinding.  He  fell  in  love  at  first  sight 
with  a  deuced  homely  English  girl,  who  was  in  the  forum, 
dividing  her  time  between  a  sandwich  and  a  sketch  of  some 
marble  columns,  that  stood  around.  I  told  him  he  might 
have  the  girl  in  welcome,  if  he  only  allowed  me  the  sandwich, 
as  I  was  awfully  famished.  It  is  astonishing  what  an  appe- 
tite ruins  do  create.  It  is  shameful  that  one's  mortality 
should  become  so  prominent  in  the  midst  of  immortality. 

Upon  entering  the  theatre,  we  were  assailed  by  a  hideous 
remnant  of  humanity  in  the  shape  of  a  beggar.  Indeed, 
the  whole  of  Pompeii  abounds  in  nuisances  of  this  kind. 
One  scoundrel  was  playing  the  guitar,  and  cutting  the 
most  ridiculous  antics  imaginable.  A  lover  of  the  pictu- 
resque might  have  been  delighted  with  his  gesture  and  ap- 
pearance ;  but  had  I  been  an  emperor,  he  should  have  been 
hung  with  his  own  guitar  string  to  the  nearest  pillar  in  the 
Temple  of  Justice.  I  would  have  revived  the  supremacy 
of  that  tribunal  over  the  surrounding  fragments.  Such  an 
unqualified  vagabond  desecrating  the  abodes  where  Grecian 
elegance  once  vied  with  Roman  wealth  to  furnish  forth 
attraction  ! 

On  our  return,  we  passed  some  beautiful  villas,  filled 
with  the  blossoms  and  flowers  of  spring.  They  looked  like 
delightful  retreats,  recalling  the  scenes  of  many  a  romance, 
whose  pages  glow  with  a  luxury  of  description  only  veri- 
fied in  such  a  land.  There  is  certainly  something  in  the 
climate  which  renders  mere  animal  existence  an  enjoyment. 
To  mount  the  Hill  of  St.  Elmo  on  a  clear  day,  and  stroll 
leisurely  along  its  ridge  far  as  the  Grotto  of  Posillipo — 
through  the  villas  of  Regino  and  Ruffo — is  an  absolute 


THE  PROCESSIOX  OF  THE  HOST. 


Ill 


pleasure.  The  sense  of  toil  is  completely  overcome  by 
the  enchantment  around,  and  it  is  only  upon  descending  - 
again  to  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  one  feels  the 
exhausting  power  of  this  most  enervating  of  climates. 
Shelley's  "  Lines  written  in  Dejection  by  the  bay  of  Na- 
ples" must  have  had  birth  after  such  a  stroll,  doubtless 
caused  by  the  reaction  of  an  excess  which  such  a  tempera- 
ment as  his  must  have  indulged  in  amid  such  scenery. 


LEAF  XVII. 

IN  AND  ABOUT  NAPLES. 

Hotel  New  York,  Naples. 

I  don't  like  the  Naples  cuisine.  Fish  and  maccaroni 
are  the  only  two  things  worth  eating.  The  fruit  is  excel- 
lent— the  wine  decidedly  bad ;  the  famous  Lachryma 
Christi  is  among  the  most  wretched  liquids  I  have  yet 
tasted.  One  drop  of  ether  to  a  pint  of  water  would 
make  capital  Lachryma  Christi  !  The  Capri  suits  my 
palate  best.  There  is  also  a  wine  called  Marsala,  has  the 
flavor  of  an  indifi'erent  Madeira,  but  it  is  too  powerful  for 
summer  work ;  it  takes  two  persons  to  manage  a  bottle. 

Two  months  might  be  killed  very  agreeably  here  with  a 
nice  female  companion  and  a  carriage.  The  out-of-door 
life  of  these  people  affords  an  infinite  variety  of  amusement 
for  an  observer  of  matters  and  things.  One  has  only  to 
roam  the  market-place  during  the  day,  and  turn  into  the 
puppet-shows  at  night,  to  find  enough  of  Italian  oddity 
and  mischief  to  employ  all  one's  faculties.  An  Italian 
quarrel  is  well  worth  seeing.  There  is  a  bustle  and  gesti- 
culation about  it  not  to  be  found  out  of  Italy.    It  begins 


112 


^ILD  OATS,  SOWX  ABROAD. 


with  a  fierce  threat  of  assault,  and  closes  with  a  tremen- 
dous exercise  of  tongue,  after  having  drawn  in  ail  the 
bystanders,  and  elicited  energy  enough  'to  have  stormed  a 
fortress.  The  women  are  particularly  eminent,  and  much 
more  likely  than  their  lords  to  make  a  striking  demonstra- 
tion. It  is  really  fearful  to  have  one  of  them  open  the 
campaign  against  you  ;  and  before  I  became  acquainted 
with  the  extent  of  the  damage  consequent  upon  it,  I  had 
some  difficulty  to  keep  from  flinching ;  but  now  I  should 
as  soon  expect  a  stroke  of  lightning  from  a  cloudless  sky 
as  a  blow  from  an  Italian — at  least,  openly.  Their  reli- 
gion is  a  strange  business.  I  never  can  look  at  a  proces- 
sion of  the  Host  with  any  thing  like  becoming  gravity — it 
is  utterly  impossible.  I  try  my  best.  Such  a  straggling 
group  of  patched  humanity  as  it  presents !  and  then  the 
ludicrous  energy  with  which  the  ringers  agonize  their 
bells,  and  the  tattered  breeches  of  the  boys  peeping  out 
from  beneath  their  ceremonial  robes  like  a  rat  in  a  palace  ! 
The  vagabonds  in  the  rear,  too,  are  a  precious  set  !  They 
crowd  together,  muttering  their  doleful  aves  in  a  sort  of 
chorus  with  the  bells,  and  they  have  scarcely  finished  the 
strain  before  you  may  detect  the  identical  fellows  picking 
a  pocket,  or  ofiering  a  woman.  The  most  famous  assig- 
nation house  here  has  a  virgin  in  fresco  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  with  an  "ora  pro  nobis"  beneath;  and  a  girl  when 
making  love  invariably  takes  the  rosary  from  her  wrist, 
and  lays  it  carefully  aside.  No  matter  what  the  occupa- 
tion may  be,  the  outward  form  of  devotion  is  never  ne- 
glected, and  there  is  no  imaginable  excitement  which 
could  make  them  forgetful  of  this  duty.  The  villain  who 
is  telling  a  lie  at  every  step — the  prostitute  who  is  seeking 
to  ensnare  you — will  each  go  through  the  necessary  cere- 
mony at  every  sacred  image  they  may  pass.  Incompre- 
hensible compound  of  veneration  and  disobedience  of  God's 


THE  ASCE^fT  OF  VESUVIUS. 


113 


laws  I  I  have  stood  bj  the  side  of  many  a  girl  in  the 
cathedral  merely  to  watch  with  what  facility  she  could 
change  her  upturned  gaze  of  devotion  into  a  passionate 
glance  of  unequivocal  earthly  fervor.  It  is  the  result  of 
the  system.  The  prescribed  form  gone  through  with,  and 
the  sin-freed  spirit  may  wander  again  wherever  it  listeth. 
A  convenient  religion,  both  to  live  and  to  die  by.  Should 
ever  the  weight  of  my  crimes  press  too  heavily  upon  my 
conscience,  I  shall  throw  myself  upon  the  bosom  of  the 
Italian  form  of  belief,  and  go  to  Heaven  on  the  wings  of  a 
wafer.  But  save  me  from  being  buried  in  the  Campo 
Santo  here.  It  is  a  beautiful  spot,  and  its  tales  of  horror 
mere  fictions;  but  then  it  is  full  of  lizards,  and  I  hate 
their  crocodile  shape,  bright  eyes,  and  rapid  movements ; 
it  would  be  worse  than  hell  to  have  such  companions.  If 
there  was  any  truth  in  transmigration  of  souls,  I  should 
believe  them  to  be  ancient  Romans.  They  haunt  all  these 
old  ruins  with  the  pertinacity  of  undying  love.  The  very 
first  object  I  saw  at  Pompeii  was  a  lizard,  and  I  never  lay 
my  hand  upon  old  ivy  without  starting  a  dozen  as  green 
and  glossy  as"  its  leaves.  It  makes  me  shudder  to  see 
these  noiseless  creature — these  tenants  of  decay ;  and  I 
would  rather  have  a  host  of  jackalls  howling  around  me. 
The  doctrine  of  antipathy  is  strongly  marked  between  us, 
and  I  shall  be  careful  to  give  my  executors  orders  not  to 
bury  me  in  their  neighborhood.  Byron  should  never  have 
written  those  lines  in  the  Giaour : 

"  It  is  as  if  the  dead  could  feel 
The  icy  worm  around  them  steal." 

How  did  I  get  upon  this  subject  ? — Off  soundings  ! 

The  ascent  of  Vesuvius  is  over.  The  French  viscount 
accompanied  us,  and  we  had  a  fine  day  for  the  operation. 
The  fatigue  of  mounting  is  greatly  exaggerated,  and  I  was 

H  10* 


114 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


agreeably  disappointed  to  find  it  such  easy  work.  There 
was  some  disputing  about  our  choice  of  a  vehicle,  and  I 
was  desirous  to  try  the  merits  of  the  famed  curriculo  :  but 
we  finally  took  a  carriage  to  Portici,  where  we  found  our 
guide  and  horses.  The  necessity  for  a  guide  was  not 
apparent  to  me  during  the  whole  course  of  the  business. 
The  road  is  perfectly  plain,  and  there  is  always  some 
straggler  about  to  take  charge  of  the  horses.  As  it  was, 
we  started  with  a  bona  fide  guide  and  some  four  extra 
loafers,  who  managed  to  attach  themselves  as  suite  to  the 
cavalcade,  and  who  were  of  no  possible  use  to  us.  I  had 
my  misgivings  of  the  result,  and  attempted  to  discharge 
this  volunteer  accompaniment ;  but  the  thing  was  impos- 
sible. There  is  no  getting  rid  of  an  Italian  when  he  has 
once  touched  your  bridle-rein.  He  then  becomes  a  part 
of  the  animal,  and  it  is  like  divorcing  body  and  soul  to 
separate  them.  At  the  Hermitage  there  was  also  another 
nuisance,  called  a  guard,  joined  us,  with  the  ostensible 
purpose  of  protecting  us  from  robbery  the  remainder  of 
the  way  ;  but  we  saw  nothing  of  him  afterwards  until  he 
came  to  claim  his  pay ;  and  we  might  have  been  stabbed, 
buried,  and  rose  from  the  dead,  before  he  would  have  been 
aware  of  the  fact. 

The  whole  base  of  Vesuvius  is  one  scene  of  desolation — 
worse  than  desolation — for  it  is  the  violence  of  nature  in 
its  most  infernal  form ;  whole  miles  of  rough,  black,  up- 
turned lava,  lying  like  huge  masses  of  iron  ore  in  wild 
disorder.  Nothing  could  leave  a  mere  fearful  memorial 
of  its  destructive  presence.  War  has  its  wreck — decay  its 
herbage — even  the  desert  has  its  palm  and  shrub ;  but 
here  all  is  one  dark,  lifeless,  mis-shapen  waste.  Over 
these  hard  breakers  the  horses  picked  their  way  with  diffi- 
culty to  the  foot  of  the  ascent.  Here  we  left  them,  and 
began  to  climb.    It  is  not  more  than  twenty  minntes' 


THE  .MOUNTAIN  EMETIC  ! 


115 


walk,  but  laborious  on  account  of  the  footing.  One  must 
choose  a  path  among  lumps  of  lava,  which,  lying  loose, 
often  give  way  under  the  foot,  and  cause  some  bruises,  if 
one  is  not  provided  with  stout  boots.  The  ascent,  for  a 
tolerable  pedestrian,  costs  but  little  exertion ;  though  out 
of  practice  I  walked  to  the  summit  without  a  pause. 

T          and  the  vicompte  had  more  difficulty  ;  the  latter, 

however,  mounted  unassisted  by  the  guides.    T   took 

the  whole  crowd  into  service,  some  pulling  in  front,  others 
pushing  from  behind ;  and  he  had  scarcely  reached  the  top 
before  they  all  claimed  pay.  This  was  as  I  expected.  With 
this  hope  they  had  perseveringly  trotted  along  the  whole 
distance,  and  now  with  some  show  of  justice  they  came 

down  like  locusts  upon  poor  T  .    Their  demand  was 

enormous.  We  resisted,  and  appealed  to  our  bona  fide 
guide.  He,  of  course,  sided  with  his  satellites,  (no  doubt 
receiving  a  per  ccntage  upon  the  amount  swindled,  to  silence 

the  scoundrels.)    T          paid  the  claim,  and  I  threatened 

to  throw  the  first  one  into  the  crater  who  dared  to  follow 
us  another  step.  They  vanished,  and  we  had  leisure  to 
examine  things  unmolested.  The  wind  was  favorable,  and 
we  got  a  good  view. 

II  fume  joliment  (it  smokes  beautifully!)  says  the 
Frenchman. 

And,  sure  enough,  it  not  only  smoked,  but  showered  fire 
in  the  most  demoniacal  style.  The  small  cone  within  the 
main  crater  had  bursted  on  one  side,  and  the  lava  was 
pouring  out  red-hot.  It  moves  very  languidly,  and  had 
been  some  days  reaching  but  a  trifling  distance. 

We  descended  to  the  space  between  the  outer  rim  of  the 
crater  and  the  base  of  the  interior  cone.  It  was  rather 
hot  and  sulphurous  down  there,  and  our  poor  dog  began  to 
howl  dreadfully  from  the  pain ;  but  follow  us  he  would, 
even  where  it  was  almost  red  hot ;  and  my  consideration 


116 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


for  the  animal  induced  me  to  shorten  our  visit.  It  is  at 
best  but  a  foolish  undertaking,  and  only  results  in  the 
destruction  of  one's  boots.  I  saw  nothing  down  there  but 
horrid  sulphur  and  molten  lava ;  besides,  it  is  not  very 
agreeable  to  have  the  infernal  machine  belching  fire  close 
by  you,  and  every  few  seconds  hurling  myriads  of  red  hot 
stones  into  the  air  above  your  head.  These  must  occa- 
sionally be  dodged,  as  they  fall  sometimes  rather  errati- 
cally. Then  there  is  no  telling  when  the  emetic  may 
become  stronger,  and  I  should  dislike  to  be  caught  in 
such  a  shower  without  a  fire-proof  umbrella,  or  something 
of  the  kind.  To  me  the  sight  of  Vesuvius  was  shocking  in 
the  extreme.  A  continual  roar  like  the  surging  sea,  a 
shock,  a  belch,  a  dash  of  flaming  liquid,  and  a  mingled 
storm  of  smoke,  fire  and  fragments  in  rapid  succession, 
form  the  principal  features  of  this  monster.  It  was  a 
capital  idea  of  the  ancients  to  suppose  the  existence  of 
some  Titanic  form  struggling  to  release  itself  from  this 
mass.  The  agony  seems  tremendous,  and  each  throb 
appears  to  threaten  an  instant  rending  of  its  fiery  prison. 
It  is  a  miniature  edition  of  Hell,  well  got  up,"  and  likely 
to  awaken  serious  reflections  upon  the  locality  and  char- 
acter of  that  much-disputed  place. 

We  dined  on  eggs  and  capri,  with  which  our  landlord 
had  furnished  us  on  setting  out,  and  then  prepared  for  our 
downward  march.  The  descent  is  made  from  another  side 
of  the  mountain,  where  the  lava  is  like  sand,  and  one  sinks 
ancle-deep  at  every  step.  It  is  tolerably  steep,  and  care 
must  be  taken  to  preserve  a  just  balance  if  one  descends 
rapidly.  It  is  rather  a  pleasant  undertaking.  The  vi- 
compte  and  myself  dashed  off  at  a  furious  rate,  taking 
immense  strides  and  sinking  almost  knee-deep  into  the  soil. 
About  half-way  down  we  brought  up  from  exhaustion  and 
laughter.    I  looked  back  to  see  what  had  become  of  T  . 


THE  HUMAN  PROJECTILE! 


117 


I  noticed  something  rolling  towards  us  with  desperate 
rapidity,  the  guide  following  with  vain  attempts  to  arrest 
its  progress.  On  it  came  like  a  small  avalanche.  The 
vicompte  made  a  demonstration  to  seize  it,  but  it  passed 
him  with  the  quickness  of  thought.  I  had  but  a  moment 
for  preparation.  I  sank  myself  deep  in  the  lava  about  the 
line  it  must  take,  and  prepared  for  the  encounter.  It 
came  with  a  shock  of  a  battering  ram  against  me,  but  I 
succeeded  in  checking  any  further  progress.    AYhen  we 

picked  the  article  up,  it  proved  to  be  T  ,  out  of  breath, 

and  not  a  little  alarmed  at  this  manner  of  proceeding.  He 
had  forgotten  the  doctrine  of  specific  gravity  as  connected 
with  equilibrium,  and  would  most  assuredly  have  shamed 
the  speed  of  steam  by  the  time  he  reached  the  bottom  ;  but 
the  experiment  would  have  cost  him  his  life.  Had  he  been 
frictioncd  to  a  skeleton,  I  should  have  still  been  obliged  to 
laugh.  As  it  was,  the  damage  was  trifling,  and  the  re- 
mainder of  our  descent  was  accomplished  in  safety. 

On  the  road  back  to  Portici,  the  Yicompte,  too,  had  his 
accident.  When  he  first  mounted  his  charger,  I  perceived 
he  was  no  Dazzle,  and  that  riding  could  scarcely  be  ranked 
among  the  number  of  his  accomplishments.  Thus  far  he 
had  managed  his  steed  with  vigor,  but  unfortunately  his 
confidence  on  the  return  became  too  great,  and  he  would 
frequently  turn  round  in  his  saddle  to  take  a  parting  look 
at  Vesuvius.  In  one  of  these  farewell  ecstacies  I  thousrht 
T  heard  "  Mon  Dieu  !"  rather  too  emphatically  pronounced, 
and  turned  to  see  what  the  vicompte  was  about, — we  were 
riding  single  file,  and  he  was  close  behind  me, — the  un- 
happy man  was  in  an  agony ;  by  his  frequent  twistings  the 
saddle-girth  had  loosened,  and  the  saddle  w^as  slowly  evinc- 
ing a  downward  tendency.  The  vicompte,  instead  of  jump- 
ing off"  when  he  found  his  seat  precarious,  dropped  the 
bridle,  and,  like  all  novices,  clasped  the  saddle  more  closely 


118 


VriLT)   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD^ 


-with  his  legs  and  hands.  The  consequence  was  he  only 
hastened  the  movement,  and,  before  I  could  reach  him, 
fell  upon  his  head.  The  horse  stood  stock  still,  and  the 
Frenchman  picked  himself  up  with  another  ^' Mon  Dieu  !" 
and  an  anxious,  enquiring  gaze  at  his  Grecian  cap — for 
this  was  of  much  more  consideration  than  his  head — the 
mischief  was  not  great  in  either  quarter,  though  I  suspect, 
by  the  aid  of  a  fine-tooth  comb,  there  might  have  been 
some  killed  and  wounded  numbered.  As  a  Frenchman 
never  laughs  at  another's  misfortunes,  I  respected  his,  but 
it  was  at  the  risk  of  my  life.  I  never  felt  so  strong  an 
inclination  to  roar.  The  chapter  of  accidents  was  com- 
pleted by  our  being  too  late^or  dinner,  and  we  had  to  wait 
one  hour,  half-famished,  before  the  arbiter  of  destiny  an- 
nounced "  soup  !" 

In  the  evening  I  went  to  hear  Anna  Bishop  sing  in 
^' Tancredi."  There  was  a  sprig  of  regality  in  the  ro^^al 
box,  and  a  cold-faced  blonde,  whose  dull  look  could  never 
take  back  the  imagination  to  the  days  of  Joanna  of  Naples. 
Alas  !  for  the  splendour — the  influence — the  security  of 
those  days  !  Thrones  are  still  facts,  to  be  sure,  but  facts 
which  Mind  is  fast  wasting  into  shadows,  and  which,  one 
hundred  years  hence,  may  be  as  unsubstantial  as  the  glory 
of  those  scenes  which  made  this  land  "  a  marvel  and  a 
spell."  We  ask  now,  where  is  the  poison  and  the  dagger, 
which  once  were  the  familiar  furniture  of  these  thrones  ? — 
and  posterity  may  ask,  where  are  the  throne  and  sceptre 
themselves  ?  What  will  rule  in  their  stead,  is  the  future 
mystery. 

I  flatter  myself  that  is  nonsense  sufficient  for  to-night. 
I  will  suck  four  oranges  and  then  drop  complacently  to 
bed.  There  is  a  sound  of  revelry"  in  the  next  room,  and 
they  are  beating  the  poor  keys  of  a  piano  with  unmusical 
frenzy. 


THE  CITY  OF  THE  SOUL. 


119 


LEAF  XVIII. 

ROME. 

Hotel  New  York,  Naples. 
I  WAS  Half  asleep — a  shocking  confession,  considering 
the  circumstances — when  T.  cried  out,  Roma  !  Roma  !" 
I  rubbed  my  eyes,  to  ''make  assurance  doubly  sure,"  took 
a  look  through  the  windows  of  the  diligence,  and  there  was 
the  Eternal  City !  I  was,  however,  in  no  Roman  mood  of 
mind,  and  had  the  spirit  of  great  Caesar  just  then  crossed 
my  path,  I  should  have  been  barbarian  enough  to  wish  him 
to  the  D  1.  I  was  mad — downright  mad  !  One  con- 
temptible Englishman  had  destroyed  the  whole  glory  of 
Rome !  The  glow  of  pleasure,  the  rose-tint  of  imagina- 
tion, was  gone.  He  had  covered  me  over  with  the  pall  of 
mortality.  In  vain  the  colossal  remnants  of  imperial 
grandeur  wooed  me — in  vain  temple  and  aqueduct,  shrine 
and  column,  crowded  around.  The  mist  of  his  infernal 
presence  shrouded  me ;  and  my  only  consolation  was  the 
soft  eyes  of  his  niece ;  in  their  still  beauty  lay  my  Rome 
— the  city  of  the  soul  Oh  !  she  was  a  delicious  witch  ! — 
but  the  fabled  dragon  of  the  Hesperides  was  kindness  itself 
compared  to  her  guardian !  May  all  the  terrors  of  a 
wicked  conscience  wait  on  him  forever  !  We  were  getting 
along  so  well  together — no  telling  what  an  amount  of  love 
might  have  been  squandered  on  both  sides — it  must  have 
ended  in  a  "prostrating  passion."  But  the  stars  were  not 
propitious.  Like  the  worst  of  murderers,  he  strangled  the 
cherub  at  its  birth.  A  vigilant  man  was  that  uncle  !  Why 
T.  and  myself  had  scarcely  settled  ourselves  in  the  dili- 
gence, before  his  brow  clouded ;  and  the  whole  distance 


120 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


from  Naples  to  Capua  was  dedicated  to  the  god  of  Silence. 
True,  an  incessant  and  vigorous  interchange  of  glances 
was  kept  up ;  but  it  was  the  whole  extent  of  our  allowance. 
It  was  deep  drinking — quite  intoxicating.  She  was  a 
sweet-eyed  creature. 

Ar  Capua  I  helped  her  to  alight :  this  was  rather  a  bold 
move — in  the  very  teeth  of  the  dragon,  too,  who  stood 
watching  the  process.  But  it  takes  a  higher  power  to  de- 
tect a  hand-pressure — and,  strange  to  say,  we  were  both 
ungloved :  thi?  may  have  been  accident,  and  was  at  most  a 
mere  oversight.  Here  we  took  coffee,  and  succeeded  in 
getting  a  grumble  out  of  the  inexorable  uncle.  I  was 
amiability  itself,  but  he  would  not  thaw.  He  seemed  to  re- 
gard me  as  an  impertinent  species  of  ruffian,  whose  natural 
propensities  squinted  towards  highway  robbery.  At  dinner 
the  prospects  brightened.  The  laughable  medley  of  dishes 
made  it  impossible  to  proceed  without  remark — indeed  the 
conversation  became  quite  animated.  I  had  the  angel  next 
to  me,  and  threw  a  brilliant  shower  of  small  talk  into  her 
ear,  while  T.  made  a  diversion  in  my  favor  by  attacking 
both  uncle  and  aunt,  but  it  was  only  the  effervescence  of  a 
moment — the  trail  of  a  star — the  shimmer  of  a  good  deed 
in  an  infinity  of  evil. 

No  sooner  did  I  propose  walking  on  a  little  distance, 
and  allowing  the  diligence  to  overtake  us,  than  all  was 
changed.  Yet  they  did  walk  down  the  road,  while  I 
was  washing  my  hands,  and  when  I  joined  them,  the 
horrid  aunt  said  they  must  return,  or  uncle  would  be 
angry.  This  was  too  much.  I  looked  indignant.  But 
when  the  poor  prisoner  smiled,  and  said  she  would  like 
to  walk  farther,  I  was  satisfied.  But  she  had  to  return 
— and  in  hopeless  impotence  of  will  we  rode  on  till 
night.  At  the  custom-house  on  the  borders  we  were  de- 
tained two  hours,  waiting  for  the  diligence  from  Rome. 


THE  COUP  DE  MAIN. 


121 


All  this  time  she  was  walked  up  and  dovfn,  in  order  to  pre- 
vent T.  and  myself  from  entering  into  conversation  with 
her.  Again  and  again  we  made  the  attempt — but  scarcely 
a  moment  was  allowed  us, — always  some  excuse  for  moving 
her  away  from  contact  with  us.  But  richly  was  1  revenged 
at  last.  The  Rome  diligence  stood  ready  to  receive  us — the 
aunt  stepped  in — something  had  been  left  in  the  custom- 
house—the uncle  went  for  it — and  there  stood  the  niece, 
alone  and  willing.  It  was  as  dark  as  our  fate.  I  put  my 
arm  confidingly  around  her,  and  asked  her  if  I  should  as- 
sist her  to  mount.  A  diligence  is,  at  best,  a  bad  thing 
to  get  into ;  but  when  one  wants  to  increase  the  difficulties, 
it  can  be  made  still  worse.  Twice — thrice  she  made  the 
attempt  to  spring  up,  and  each  time  came  back  into  my 
arms  with  increased  delight.  It  was  a  masterpiece  of  wo- 
manly tact,  and  she  had  to  deal  with  one  who  could  appre- 
ciate it.  In  the  past,  perhaps,  she  has  enjoyed — and  in  the 
future  there  may  yet  be  many  an  embrace  awaiting  her — but 
none  more  warm,  more  wicked  and  triumphant,  than  that 
midnight  theft  on  the  borders  of  Naples.  I  could  not  see 
her  face,  but  I  dropped  into  my  seat  with  the  air  of  a  con- 
queror and  the  satisfaction  of  a  genius,  and  in  the  sweet 
remembrance  of  such  mischief,  darkness  had  beauty  and 
time  had  wings. 

Beyond  Terracina  we  received  our  g^uard,  consisting  of 
two  miserable  soldiers,  one  out,  the  other  inside.  The  dili- 
gence had  been  robbed  a  few  nights  before,  and  we  stood  a 
capital  chance  of  undergoing  a  similar  experiment.  It 
was  a  great  consolation  to  me  that  I  sat  next  the  guard — 
there  was  not  the  slightest  danger  of  the  brigands  firing 
at  him,  and  as  he  was  in  duty  bound  to  fire  his  musket  in 
some  direction,  the  probabilities  were  in  favor  of  his  shoot- 
ing my  opposite  man — in  both  events  I  felt  secure.  In- 
deed, they  frequently  forget  to  fire  at  all,  and  take  to  their 

11 


122 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


heels  before  the  presence  of  brigands  is  reduced  to  a  cer- 
tainty : — a  noise  in  the  thicket  is  sufiBcient  to  start  them. 
In  nine  cases  out  of  ten  they  are  leagued  with  the  plun- 
derers. Protection  from  them  is  the  height  of  the  bur- 
lesque. I  have  my  doubts  whether  there  was  any  flint  in 
the  lock  of  the  musket — I  could  not  discern  any.  He 
slept  soundly  the  whole  way,  and,  with  less  money  about 
me,  I  should  have  been  dehghted  with  an  attack  if  only 
to  see  the  sham  defence.  Those  scoundrels  about  Terra- 
cina  looked  the  perfection  of  brigandism.  Yet  they  are 
all  cowards.  One  spirited  resistance  or  two  would  put  an 
end  to  the  annoyance.  King  Murat  kept  the  road  clear 
without  much  difficulty.  He  ordered  every  tenth  man  to 
be  shot  in  the  neighborhood  where  the  robbery  occurred. 
This  methodical  arrangement  soon  settled  the  romance  of 
the  business. 

It  was  two  o'clock  when  we  entered  the  Porta  Maggiore. 
The  custom-house  officer  was  very  civil,  and  with  scarcely 
any  detention,  we  found  ourselves  housed  in  the  Hotel 
D'AUemagne,  with  good  Franz  Roesler.  Up  to  this  time 
I  had  not  received  one  letter  from  home.  I  immediately 
sent  the  valet  to  my  banker's,  and  told  him  to  meet  me  at 
the  Coliseum,  with  my  letters. 

I  strolled  leisurely  down  the  Corso — through  the  Roman 
Forum — under  the  Arch  of  Titus — on,  till  I  found  myself 
in  the  shadow  of  the  Coliseum.  The  chief  relics  of  ancient 
Home  were  before  me !  yet,  strange  to  say,  I  felt  sad — 
dejected.  The  hour  to  which  I  had  looked  forward  with 
so  much  pleasure  had  come  at  last,  and  found  me  cold — 
stupid — commonplace.  The  very  events  which  made  the 
scenes  around  me  such  hallowed  ground,  seemed  to  escape 
my  memory.  I  essayed  in  vain  to  call  the  mantled  Marius 
or  the  soft-eyed  Nero  from  the  realms  of  fancy.  Angry 
with  myself,  I  sat  down  upon  the  fragment  of  a  pillar, 


NIGHT  IN  THE  COLISEUM! 


123 


near  the  entrance  of  the  Coliseum.  The  sun  was  just 
setting,  and  the  air  came  chill  through  the  deep  arches  of 
the  mighty  fabric.  I  began  to  doubt  whether  this  cold, 
solemn,  unsympathizing  ruin  repaid  one  for  the  toil  of  the 
pilgrimage.  For  the  first  time,  the  romance  of  travel  grew 
"flat,  stale,  and  unprofitable"  to  my  oppressed  feelings. 
The  valet  placed  a  packet  of  letters  in  my  hand.  I  broke 
the  seal  mechanically,  and  read.  The  twilight  was  fast 
approaching.  Did  I  see  aright  ?  The  death  of  Y.,  the 
marriage  of  F.  !  Strange  destiny  !  My  first  news  from 
home  greets  me  in  the  Roman  Amphitheatre,  with  a  mar- 
riage and  a  death  !  She  was  married  ! — the  only  woman 
I  could  ever  have  persuaded  myself  to  marry.  She  was 
gone  for  me  ! — wrapped  in  the  guarded  coldness  of  sacred 
bonds  !  Her  memories  a  crime — my  future  avowal  an 
insult.  Like  the  accursed  Jew,  I  had  thrown  away  a  gem, 
richer  than  power,  wealth,  or  fame.  The  curse  of  a  cold- 
blooded philosophy  fell  back  upon  myself.  I  had  exchanged 
substantial  happiness- for  a  momentary  revel  of  the  imagin- 
ation :  and  now,  when  these  scenes,  so  coveted,  lay  before 
me — that  imagination  played  me  false,  and  lay  torpid  as 
the  encrusted  toad.  Past  joys  rose  from  the  sealed  depths 
of  Time,  with  all  the  freshness  of  yesterday,  and  dimmed 
the  glory  of  Rome  itself. 

Here  my  dream — for  dream  it  must  have  been — was 
interrupted  by  my  valet,  declaring  that  my  Excellency 
would  take  a  fever  in  the  night  air  without  a  cloak — and 
sure  enough  the  night  had  come  down  upon  my  reverie. 
I  stood  a  moment  to  take  another  look  at  the  Coliseum. 
What  a  change !  The  majesty  of  imperial  Rome  stood^ 
revealed  in  its  most  glorious  representative.  Yes  !  night 
and  solitude  are  the  fit  trappings  of  its  decayed  splendor. 
It  circled  me  like  some  vast,  unearthly  thing,  one  sees  in 
dreams.    Up,  up^ — to  the  very  heavens — rose  the  dark 


124 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABKOAD. 


remnants  of  its  Titanic  form.  The  black  depths  of  ita 
arches — the  shadowy  outline  of  its  lofty  walls — the  solitude 
of  its  myriad  seats — the  sight  of  the  cold  stars  above — 
and  the  ruin  around — it  made  my  presence  seem  a  desecra- 
tion of  its  sublimity,  and  I  walked  away,  half  afraid  of 
this  mute  witness  of  Rome's  brutality — this  survivor  of 
the  world's  greatest  empire. 

LEAF  XIX. 

ROME  AND  ITS  CHURCH. 

Rome,  March  20,   

I  ENTERED  Rome  a  decided  friend  of  the  Roman  Catho- 
lic Church.  From  my  earliest  days  I  had  a  reverence  for 
its  attractive,  mysterious  symbols,  though  only  seen  in  the 
naked  simplicity  of  our  own  churches.  History  had  taught 
me  to  regard  its  policy  and  maxims  as  the  master-work  of 
human  intellect,  based  on  the  strongest  stratum  of  the 
heart — Devotion.  In  the  power  and  influence  of  its  former 
pride,  one  recognised  the  presence  of  Godhead ; — the  crea- 
tion of  man — the  work  of  his  hands — had  assumed  and 
exercised  the  infallibility  of  Divinity  through  the  aid  of 
Religion.  The  thunderbolt  of  Heaven  seemed  not  more 
certain  of  its  fatal  work  than  the  anger  of  the  Vatican. 
In  the  hands  of  a  sovereign  prince,  w^hose  territory  was 
but  a  spot  on  the  face  of  Europe,  spiritual  ambition  had 
centered  the  despotism  of  the  world.  Conclaves  of  cardi- 
nals, bands  of  Jesuits,  had  framed  a  system  so  cunningly 
interwoven  vrith  the  wants  and  weaknesses  of  mankind, 
that  it  has  survived  ages  and  revolutions,  and  will  survive 
Time  itself.    True,  its  roots  are  severed,  and  its  once 


CATHOLICITY  CONSIDERED.  125 


invincible  arm  palsied,  but  the  vital  principle  that  gives  it 
birth  and  glorj  still  lives  on,  v^aiting,  as  it  were,  some 
favorable  change  in  the  moral  world,  which  may  again 
revive  its  col  ^s;il  proportions.  But  in  vain.  No  change 
of  maxim — uo  shifting  of  doctrine — no  expediency  can 
seat  that  gigantic  shade  of  superstition  and  abuse  upon 
its  ancient  throne.  It  may  live  forever — but  ever  in 
the  decrepitude  of  its  present  state.  The  spirit  of  devo- 
tion which  built  up  this  earthly  Godhead  called  popery-, 
has  taken  a  loftier  flight,  and  in  the  realms  of  intellect, 
and  not  of  outward  sense,  worships  its  Creator. — The 
pomp  and  magnificence  of  the  Koman  Church  will  still 
make  and  keep  its  worshippers.  Perhaps  for  the  Euro- 
pean mass  it  is  the  best  religion — it  exacts  faith,  and  in 
return  procures  pardon  for  sinners.  The  end  and  aim  of  all 
Religion  is  submission  to  the  Divine  Will,  as  understood 
through  the  Bible.  That  the  Roman  Church  too  nearly  as- 
pired to  personify  that  Divine  Will,  in  its  own  person,  is  a 
fault,  but  a  fault  for  which  it  alone  must  atone ;  it  certainly 
accomplishes  the  main  object  more  than  any  other  Church. 
Why  look  farther?  If  experience  has  shown  that  the 
majority  of  mankind  require  those  forms  and  trappings 
which  insult  the  mind  of  the  more  enlightened,  why  blame 
the  Roman  Church  for  using  them  ?  It  does,  ever  has,  and 
ever  will  consult  its  own  interest.  As  a  model  of  Eccle- 
siastical Government,  it  stands  unrivalled.  The  infallibility 
of  the  Pope,  regarded  like  the  last  appellant  power 
in  law,  is  excellent  doctrine.  It  makes  the  Church  an 
unity,  and  fetters  the  metaphysics  of  faith.  The  abuses 
of  the  Roman  Church  can  never  be  revived.  They  are 
but  the  children  of  a  Power  too  exorbitant  to  be  ever 
again  usurped.  The  ambition  of  the  Pontiffs  and  the 
weakness  of  the  age  seduced  the  Church  from  its  legiti- 
mate sphere.    That  ambition  died,  like  a  warrior,  sword  in 

11* 


126 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


hand.  It  was  the  first  victim  grappled  and  bound  bj  the 
recurring  sense  of  the  multitude,  and  with  it  perished 
every  source  for  its  re-production.  This  once  boundless 
and  successful  ambition,  hedged  in  by  the  gradual  but  pro- 
gressive spirit  of  Time,  is  now  looked  upon  as  something 
monstrous,  and  the  fear  is,  not  that  the  Pope  may  aspire 
to  increased  dominion,  but  that  his  sovereignty  will  be 
absorbed  by  the  surrounding  powers. 

This  is  as  it  should  be.  The  Pope  must  eventually 
retire  into  the  sole  performance  of  his  spiritual  duties. 
The  Papal  States  are  too  shockingly  administered  to 
remain  much  longer  in  priestly  hands.*  Already  it 
requires  the  strongest  protection  from  Austria  to  keep 
things  quiet,  and  where  Austria  once  protects,  she  in- 
variably absorbs.  It  is  a  melancholy  spectacle  to  see 
the  Vicegerent  of  God  surrounded  with  the  tricky  pa- 
geantry of  an  earthly  Court,  with  but  the  shadow  of  kingly 
consideration.  As  the  spiritual  Lord  and  Head  of  a  still 
powerful  sect,  he  might  command  respect — but  in  the  rank 
of  sovereign  princes  he  must  ever  hold  that  most  con- 
temptible of  all  places,  a  pensioner.  This  union  of  State 
and  hypocritical  Humility  revolts  the  heart ;  and  so  long 
as  his  Holiness  aspires  to  temporal  sway,  one  is  compelled 
to  regard  him  as  a  mere  political  puppet — the  creature  of 
intrigue  and  expediency.  A  government  administered  in 
this  age  by  priests  is  an  anomaly,  and  can  exist  only  in 
Italy.  It  would  seem  as  if  the  doctrine  of  retribution  has 
been  fearfully  realized  in  the  annals  of  Rome — for  ages 
herself  the  scourge  of  the  earth,  and  now  and  for  ages  past 
scourged  in  her  turn  by  the  lash  of  an  unrelenting,  bigoted, 

*  It  is  remarkable  that  this  prophecy  was  subsequently  fulfilled 
in  a  great  measure,  but  matters  were  unhappily  restored  again  to 
their  original  condition  by  a  nation,  itself  now  as  deeply  sunk  in 
spiritual  and  political  despotism. — Ed. 


POWER  PASSING  AWAY. 


127 


and  ambitious  Church — the  worst  of  tyrants.  Rome  is 
one  garrison  of  priests.  Their  orders  crowd  the  streets — 
their  equipages  block  the  thoroughfares.  Go  where  you 
will,  the  shaven  crown,  the  alms-taking  hand  greets  you. 
Whole  revenues,  the  toil  and  industry  of  thousands,  are 
eaten  up  by  the  mere  lackeys  of  spiritual  pomp.  Not  one 
footman  only,  but  in  two's  and  three's  they  dance  atten- 
dance upon  clerical  humility.  If  it  requires  the  labor  of 
two-thirds  to  maintaiiTone-third  in  idleness,  it  is  no  wonder 
the  country  is  exhausted,  and  still  his  Holiness  is  pressed 
for  means  to  meet  dem.ands ;  for  they  have  reversed  the 
rule,  and  one-third  support  the  others.  With  the  annual 
thousands  who  flock  into  this  Eternal  City,  with  the  lavish 
expenditure  of  idle  curiosity  that  follows  such  an  influx, 
the  prosperity  of  other  lands  would  rise  to  its  maximum. 
Here  it  all  sinks  into  the  abyss  of  scarlet,  while  filthy 
poverty  drags  on  its  swindling  existence.  I  have  seen 
thousands  of  Roman  peasants ; — I  have  seen  them  in 
their  holiday  attire,  where  every  thing  around  them 
invited  to  mirth,  and  yet  I  have  rarely  seen  a  joyous 
smile  upon  their  features.  Unlike  every  other  part 
of  Italy,  they  walk  about  surly  and  dissatisfied.  They 
crowd  the  churches,  not  with  the  gay-hearted  devotion  of 
Naples  and  Genoa,  but  with  the  sombre  brow  of  super- 
stitious fear ;  and  when  some  bright  eye  for  a  moment 
belies  this  dejection  of  spirit,  it  soon  yields  again  to 
some  unnatural,  invisible  restraint.  Emotion  dare  have 
but  one  outlet  here — the  Holy  Church.  Into  its  arms 
must  sink  wealth,  beauty,  and  passion.  The  union  of 
temporal  and  spiritual  sway  to  such  an  extent  is  a  curse 
to  the  ruler  and  the  subject.  It  seduces  the  one  from 
his  high  calling,  and  makes  the  other  the  two-fold  victim 
of  abuse.  It  is  time  for  the  throne  of  St.  Peter  to  part 
with  its  patrimony.    The  power  to  emanate  the  laws  of 


128 


^ILD   OATS;  SOWN  ABROAD. 


conscience  is  glory  enough,  without  dabbling  in  the  science 
of  national  government.  The  obsolete  policy  of  the  old 
Church  can  only  produce  distress  and  convulsion,  and  must 
lead  to  further  foreign  interference,  until  his  Holiness  will 
not  even  be  able  to  retire  with  decency.  I  don't  blame 
the  old  Pontiff  for  struggling  to  the  last.  It  is  hard  for 
the  possessor  of  that  tiara  before  which  emperors  have 
bowed,  to  sink  from  his  high  pinnacle,  and  forego  forever 
the  dazzling  hope  of  former  power. 

[Note  by  the  Author.  It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  these  ill- 
digested  ideas  were  committed  to  paper  some  years  ago,  when  the 
writer  was  a  gay,  thoughtless  young  man.  Did  he  write  now  of 
Rome  and  its  Church,  it  would  be  in  a  very  different  spirit ;  but  he 
is  too  indolent  for  that  effort,  and  his  Journal  must  stand  as  a  true 
index  of  his  rattle-cap  disposition  at  that  day.  He  has  li'ot  written 
as  an  oracle  or  a  wiseacre,  but  merely  played  the  chiffonier  in  his 
own  thoughts  for  his  own  amusement.] 

March  25. 

Well,  thank  fortune  !  the  Ruins  are  "  all  done  up"  at 
last !  I  have  been  working  like  a  Trojan  over  Ancient 
Rome.  "With  less  faith,  but  equal  ardor,  I  have  gone 
hand-in-hand  with  Old  Nibby"  among  the  fragmentary 
heaps  of  imperial  rubbish,  and  tried  to  image  forth  the 
colossal  proportions  of  Roman  genius ; — In  the  Pantheon 
— by  the  lone  shaft  of  Trajan — at  the  foot  of  her  tri- 
umphal arches — amid  the  scattered  columns  of  her  Forum 
— by  the  side  of  her  half-decayed  temples,  I  have  stood 
with  admiring  wonder  of  the  taste,  the  skill,  the  lofty  con- 
ception, the  finished  execution,  the  unbounded  resources  of 
the  Empire.  In  the  baths  of  Caracalla — in  the  halls  of 
Diocletian — under  the  imperishable  aqueducts — among  the 
vaults  of  the  Caesarian  Palace,  and  by  the  "  Tempel  del 
Pace."  I  have  been  bewildered  at  the  luxury — the  vast- 
ness  —the  costliness  of  her  splendor-loving  pride.    On  the 


BYRON  AMONG  THE  RUINS  ! 


129 


Tarpeian  Rock  I  have  smiled  at  the  squabbles  of  antiqua- 
rians, and  been  amazed  at  the  extent  of  my  own  credulity. 
Verily,  the  doctrine  of  Faith  is  as  necessary  in  the  explor- 
ing of  traditionary  lore  as  in  the  expounding  of  religion. 
Sam  Patch  would  have  laughed  at  Treason's  Leap."  It 
would  have  been  mere  exercise  for  him.  If  I  could  believe 
all  the  dove-tailed  theories  of  these  ruin-mon2jers — these 
*'monkbarns" — the  night-owls  of  history,  I  have  seen  the 
very  spot  where  Csesar  fell,  likewise  where  Nero  jBddled ; 
but  these  are  minor  considerations.  The  skeleton  of  the 
Imperial  City  presents  enough  for  reflection  without  ap- 
pealing to  the  doubtful,  the  sceptical  and  the  unknown. 
Whether  the  "agger  of  Servius  Tullius"  still  stands,  or 
whether  Attila  threw  his  lance  over  this  self-same  wall, 
depends  upon  the  imagination  alone.  For  the  feverish 
and  wonder-loving  fancy,  the  Christians  are  still  grouped 
in  the  fatal  arena  of  the  Coliseum,  the  wild  beast  still 
foams,  the  inhuman  shout  roars  on,  and  the  Gladiator  dies. 
In  the  filthy  Tiber  it  sees  a  glorious,  bounding,  and  exult- 
ing river ;  in  each  rough  antique  the  chisel  of  Praxiteles, 
and  should  some  toga'd  robber  cross  its  path  in  the  shadow 
of  the  Palatine,  upon  the  instant  the  mysterious  apparition 
is  identified  with  the  shade  of  Cataline  or  Sylla.  To  this 
fervid  fancy  the  Brazen  Wolf  is  a  religion,  and  the  stain 
upon  "great  Pompey's  Statue"  can  be  but  the  blood  of 
Csesar.  Happy  self-deception  !  Beautiful  outlet  of  sim- 
plicity !  I  begin  to  Aveary  of  this  eternal  call  for  admira- 
tion. I  have  supped  full  of  Ruins,  and  must  "  have  pause," 
or  I  shall  die  of  a  surfeit.  There  is  a  satiety  of  the  eye  as 
complete  as  that  of  the  other  senses.  To  drop  by  accident 
in  a  lounging  mood  upon  some  old  pillar,  and  find  around 
you  an  elegant  sufiiciency  of  picturesque  decay,  is  pleasant 
enough.  One  can  speculate  upon  the  head  that  conceived, 
the  hand  that  framed,  and  the  crowds  that  once  frequented 
I 


130 


TVILD   OATS,  SOWN  ALKOAD. 


its  now  desolate  beauty.  Dream  after  dream  of  the  un 
returning  Past  may  float  on  in  indefinite  array  of  shadow 
until  the  world  of  sense  recalls  you  from  the  realms  of 
fancy,  and  you  proceed  to  dinner  with  the  satisfaction  of 
having:  killed  a  mornino;  without  a  vestiore  of  fa  tissue.  But 
to  rise  day  after  day  with  the  infernal  certainty  upon  your 
mind  that  so  much  must  be  accomplished — to  find  such  and 
such  ruins  "booked"  for  your  daily  task — to  start  out  in 
the  most  business-like  manner,  guide-book  in  hand,  upon 
your  conquest  of  observatory  spoil — to  be  called  upon  to 
expend  a  certain  amount  of  gratification  upon  each  object, 
and  to  listen  to  the  most  profound  remarks ;  then  to  return, 
completely  "fagged  out,"  mournfully  humming, 

"  I've  been  roaming 

and  compelled  to  hear  your  valet  coolly  dissecting  the 
next  day's  subject.  Oh !  it  is  horrible !  The  pleasures 
of  travel  never  rise  to  so  high  a  pitch  as  when  a  man 
returns  from  such  a  ruinous  tour  of  stone  and  mortar. 
How  any  individual  can  finish  Rome  in  two  weeks  is 
appalling  ;  and  yet  some  Americans  steam  it  over  in  five 
days  !*  I  should  consult  an  oculist,  and  insure  my  life  to 
a  large  amount  before  I  attempted  such  a  thing.  It  must 
be  a  magnanimous  sacrifice  of  comfort.  How  mournful, 
yet  how  beautiful,  does  the  spirit  of  Byron  haunt  with  its 
imperishable  verse  this  city  of  the  soul !  There  is  scarcely 
a  ruin,  tomb,  or  temple  to  which  his  genius  has  not  given 
a  deeper  charm.  The  voice  of  Manfred  speaks  in  the 
sepulchral  moonlight  of  the  Coliseum,  and  the  wandering 
Harold  muses  over  the  melancholy  destiny  of  earthly 
glory  in  the  Palace  of  the  Caesars ;  here,  in  this  solemn 
scene  of  a  whole  country's  desolation,  his  own  passions  and 
his  faults  are  dumb,  and  in  all  the  beauty  of  a  holy  calling 

*  Como,  don't  be  personal. — Ed.  Am.  Cour. 


A  GOSSIP  WITH  THE  ARTISTS. 


131 


he  lays  the  offering  of  his  inspiration  and  sorrow  on  a 
nation's  urn.  If  the  errors  of  a  wayward  disposition  and 
the  abuse  of  high  talents  can  be  atoned  for,  this  alone 
should  purchase  it. 

LEAF  XX. 

THE  GALLERIES  OF  ROME. 

March  28,   . 

I  HAVE  nearly  broken  my  neck  with  looking  at  frescoed 
ceilings.  It  is  worse  than  star-gazing.  Indeed,  few  of 
them  repay  one  for  the  pain  of  such  a  constrained  attitude. 
How  they  were  ever  painted  so  well  I  cannot  imagine. 
My  artistic  enthusiasm  would  soon  evaporate,  if  compelled 
to  lie  on  my  back  and  paint  upwards.  I  begin  seriously 
to  doubt  my  own  taste — it  don't  coincide  with  the  esta- 
blished despotism.  I  have  been  barbarian  enough  to  admire 
pictures  of  little  reputation.  The  two  master-pieces  of  the 
world  don't  appear  to  my  weak  eyes  so  infinitely  superior 
to  all  others.  Perhaps  it  is  a  blessing  not  to  be  a  connois- 
seur :  one  can  admire  without  being  damned,  and  damn 
without  being  regarded.  This  continual  repetition  of  reli- 
gious subjects  ends  in  being  a  bore.  One  would  suppose 
the  old  painters  lived  with  and  fed  upon  Madonnas  and 
Magdalens — that  their  only  furniture  was  St.  Sebastians 
and  St.  Johns — and  that  every  new-born  baby  necessarily 
personified  an  infant  Saviour  !  Raphael  painted  Madonnas 
enough  to  satisfy  all  creation.  To  be  sure,  there  is  a 
strong  family  likeness  running  through  them,  and  it  re- 
quires but  slight  observation  to  detect  the  Fornarini  in  dis- 
guise peeping  through  the  softened  sanctity  of  the  virgin 


132 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD, 


mother.  If  this  fact  should  shock  the  intensely  religious 
spectator,  why  he  has  only  to  turn  to  Andrea  del  Sarto 
for  consolation,  as  he  has  produced  quite  a  batch  of  less 
objectionable  Holy  Families.  I  "was  very  much  amused 
at  the  question  of  a  countryman  of  mine  :  we  were  looking 
at  a  Magdalen  of  Guercino  ;  he  asked  me  quietly :  "  Who  is 
this  Magdalen  that  I  see  painted  so  often  in  these  galleries 
— is  it  intended  for  Mrs.  Christ?"  "No,"  says  I,  "it  is 
the  mistress  of  one  of  the  old  saints,  I  forget  which."  The 
poor  man  had  the  most  confused  idea  of  the  biblical 
arrangements.  I  hope  St.  Anthony  will  forgive  me  for 
this  little  piece  of  slander — it  was  too  inviting  a  chance. 

In  the  Farnesina  Palace  is  a  fresco  by  Sodama — the 
marriage  of  Alexander  and  Roxana — which  certainly  has 
great  beauty.  It  is  one  of  my  favorites.  The  face  of 
Roxana  has  that  indefinable  something  which  sets  one  to 
dreaming.  The  eagerness  of  the  little  cupids  to  induce 
her  to  retire  is  admirable,  and  the  expression  of  the  black 
slave  is  exactly  what  I  have  seen  again  and  again  in  the 
South.  In  the  same  palace  is  the  Galatea  of  Raphael,  and 
the  History  of  Cupid  and  I'syche.  In  a  corner  of  one  of 
the  rooms  Michael  Angelo  sketched  a  magnificent  head  as 
a  "  Carte  de  -Visite"  in  a  morning  call  on  Raphael.  Power 
of  genius  !  The  whim  of  the  moment  becomes  an  immor- 
tality, and  the  loose  crayoning  of  Angelo  is  now  a  Palatial 
gem.  What  a  pity  one  cannot  roam  in  peace  through 
these  frescoed  halls  without  meeting  some  amateur  at 
every  turn,  anxious  to  display  his  science,  and  to  prescribe 
rules  of  taste.  It  is  equal  to  a  religious  persecution  to 
force  a  man  to  worship  what  he  don't  fancy.  I  believe  in 
Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo,  but  it  is  neither  the  former's 
famous  Transfiguration  nor  the  latter's  Last  Judgment, 
that  converted  me.  The  Barberina  Palace  possesses  one 
of  the  most  interesting  pictures  in  Rome — the  head  of 


SPARKLING  GEMS. 


133 


Beatrice  Cenci  by  Guido.  It  is  an  astonisliing  portorm- 
ance,  which  defies  reproduction — an  off-hand  dash  of  inspi- 
ration which  the  artist  himself  could  not  have  repeated. 
There  is  no  limb  visible — nothing  but  a  draped  face. — 
Shelley  has  given  a  truthful  analysis  of  its  expression. 
Tradition  would  have  us  believe  that  this  portrait  was 
taken  the  evening  before  her  execution ;  but  it  needs  no 
such  artificial  aid  to  rivet  one's  attention.  It  breathes 
the  language  of  thoughtful,  unmerited  suffering — it  is  a 
countenance  that  comes  long  after,  at  your  bidding,  from 
the  depths  of  memory,  and  almost  persuades  you  it  was 
once  your  friend.  If  Beatrice  Cenci  ever  looked  thus,  her 
father  was  the  most  inhuman  monster  on  record.  In  the 
same  room  is  the  Fornarina  of  Raphael,  a  vain,  passionate- 
looking  creature,  but  deuced  attractive  withal.  She  has 
the  real  Italian  intensity  of  gaze  which  challenges  and  yet 
retreats — which  woos  and  yet  commands.  There  is  no 
dallying  about  that  face ;  she  will  brook  no  denial — you 
must  either  proceed  to  extremities,  or  not  commence  at 
all ;  no  Platonic  warfare  there.  What  a  contrast  to  the 
pale  brow  of  Beatrice  Cenci.  In  another  room  is  rather 
a  warm  picture  of  Joseph  and  Potiphar's  wife.  The  ar- 
rangement is  good,  particularly  the  foot  of  the  lady  placed 
so  enticingly  upon  that  of  Joseph  ;  but  I  don't  like  the 
legs ;  besides,  the  subject  is  ridiculous.  Had  Mrs.  Poti- 
phar  been  what  painters  delight  to  represent  her,  the  virtue 
of  Joseph  would  have  melted  like  a  January  thaw.  Such 
things  do  well  enough  on  record  when  the  absence  of 
attraction  is  presupposed ;  but  strong  temptation !  and 
human  nature  is  very  weak  on  that  point. 


March  29. 

I  LOAFED  away  the  whole  of  this  morning  in  the  Borghese 
Palace.    It  has  by  far  the  largest  collection  of  paintings  I 

12 


134 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


have  yet  seen  in  Rome.  It  would  be  a  diflScult  matter  to 
make  a  choice.  There  are  one  or  two  of  the  half-licentious, 
mythological  school,  which  certainly  display  great  warmth 
of  expression,  and  no  slight  knowledge  of  the  poetry  of 
passion.  Correggio  stands  unrivalled  in  that  school.  He 
unites  a  certain  ideality  with  the  most  natural  disposition 
of  the  limbs,  and  gives  a  grace,  softness  and  finish  to  the 
female  form,  which  even  the  worst  attitude  cannot  destroy. 
Titian  himself  must  yield  the  palm  to  him  in  this  respect. 
His  carelessness  of  effect  is  astonishing.  There  is  no  pre- 
paration of  position  for  his  pictures.  He  throws  the  par- 
ties into  the  attitude  which  the  intended  emotion  takes 
without  any  regard  to  the  aspect  it  may  present.  Titian 
invariably  has  an  eye  to  a  handsome  yet  oftentimes  artful 
distribution  of  the  person.  Correggio  idealizes  the  shape, 
but  retains  its  natural  play.  Titian  idealizes  both. 
The  Danae  of  Correggio  is  a  perfect  picture  of  its  kind ; 
so  is  lo  embraced  by  the  Cloud.  The  subject  is  not 
the  highest  order  of  the  art,  but  if  one  dare  judge 
by  the  attention  it  creates,  and  the  admiration  it  elicits, 
it  is  the  most  attractive.  There  is  a  soft,  half-bewil- 
dered, deep  enjoyment  upon  Danss's  face,  which  reveals 
bliss  more  potently  than  ever  canvass  yet  accomplished  ; 
and  there  is  a  wild,  fitful  abandonment  in  lo's  limbs  which 
speaks  an  ecstacy  no  other  pencil  has  yet  portrayed.  The 
Chase  of  Diana,  by  Domenichino,  does  not  please  me  ; 
there  is  a  shocking  indelicacy  in  one  of  the  most  prominent 
figures  which  destroys  the  effect,  besides  considerable  con- 
fusion in  the  arrangement.  He  has  crowded  too  much 
action  together ;  but  then  his  Sybil  is  glorious ! — a  real 
child  of  inspiration  !  Titian's  Sacred  and  Profane  Love  I 
could  not  comprehend — the  face  of  one  of  the  parties 
seemed  to  me  the  very  essence  of  silliness.  There  is  a 
head  of  Christ  by  Carlo  Dolce,  wonderful  for  its  softness 


"weep  for  adonis." 


135 


of  coloring  and  expression.  This  painter  has  a  perfect 
passion  for  blue — either  his  mother  or  his  mistress  must 
have  had  blue  eyes. 

I  drove  from  the  gallery  to  the  Protestant  burial-ground, 
near  the  Porta  St.  Paulo.  I  had  no  difficulty  in  finding 
the  grave  of  Shelley.  He  sleeps  in  the  new  portion  of 
the  ground,  near  the  wall ;  but  that  of  Keats  I  could  not 
discover  for  some  time.  He  lies  in  the  old,  neglected 
quarter,  which  is  still  surrounded  by  an  impassable  ditch, 
and  can  only  be  entered  at  one  point.  The  idea  of  fortify- 
ing a  grave-yard  is  new  to  me.  I  did  not  go  in,  as  his 
tomb  stood  near  the  edge  of  the  fosse,  and  I  could  easily 
read  the  inscription  from  without.  In  spite  of  myself  and 
the  reviewers,  I  felt  sad  as  I  looked  at  the  lonely,  desolate 
resting-place  of  the  author  of  Endymion.  Above  the 
grave  of  Shelley  the  roses  were  in  bloom,  and  by  his  side 
reposed  the  ashes  of  his  countryman.  The  hand  of  affec- 
tion was  visible  in  the  fresh  sod,  the  flowers,  and  the 
smooth  cleanliness  of  the  lettered  marble  ;  but  over  poor 
Keats  the  rank  grass  lay  matted  and  half-decayed ;  the 
broken  lyre  upon  his  little  slab  was  almost  obliterated,  and 
the  dark  cypress  around  only  mocked  the  unsympathizing 
solitude.  In  death,  as  in  life,  he  seemed  an  object  of  neg- 
lect. He  the  most  sorrowful-fated,  even  among  the  poets 
— the  spirit  whose  diviner  moments  gushed  forth  in  song — 
over  whose  young  years  already  the  wing  of  death  sat 
brooding,  and  to  whom  a  thing  of  beauty  was  a  joy  forever 
— this  being,  whose  stinted  existence  was  but  a  record  of 
good  deeds,  sleeps  worse  than  the  common  herd  of  mortals. 
"  Weep  for  Adonis  !" 

In  returning,  I  stopped  a  moment  at  the  grotto  of  Ege- 
ria.  It  requires  more  credulity  than  I  possess  to  believe 
that  cavern  to  have  been  the  haunt  of  any  nymph.  I  don't 
envy  Numa  the  interview,  if  it  took  place  there.    It  looks 


136 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


very  like  a  quiz ;  even  the  valet  looked  doubtful,  and  the 
mere  shadow  of  a  hesitation  in  a  valet  on  such  a  point 
must  be  regarded  as  a  positive  damn. 


THE  VATICAN. 

I  entered  the  Vatican  in  the  wake  of  a  magnificent 
French  woman.  Such  a  complexion,  and  such  teeth  !  and 
then  so  young,  and  such  a  husband  !  It  was  Beauty  and 
the  Beast.  The  rich  scoundrel,  I  hear,  got  her  out  of  a 
convent.  She  threw  the  fine  arts  into  the  shade,  and  it 
was  some  time  before  I  could  descend  to  the  worship  of 
Raphael.  In  the  Vatican  are  the  proofs  of  his  transcend- 
ant  genius.  Here  is  the  Transfiguration,  the  Madonna  di 
Foligno,  and  a  host  of  frescoes,  in  what  are  called  the 
Loggia  of  Raphael.  I  must  confess  he  soars  above  my 
capacity,  and  I  attempt  in  vain  to  analyze  the  undisputed 
superiority  of  his  works.  In  my  poor  judgment,  the  rival 
picture  by  Domenichino— the  Communion  of  St.  Jerome — 
is  decidedly  preferable.  Indeed,  the  difi'erent  degrees  of 
eminence  in  many  of  the  old  painters  seems  to  me  very 
like  the  Metaphysics  of  Kant;  none  but  the  initiated 
can  detect  the  shade.  The  artistical  world  has  pronounced 
Raphael  the  "  Divine,"  and  no  doubt  there  is  to  them  a 
something  in  his  creations  which  justifies  that  stamp  of  di- 
vinity ;  but  to  the  ordinary  eye  there  can  be  but  a  slight 
difi'erence  of  merit  in  the  master-pieces  of  that  age — so 
very  slight,  that  it  sounds  much  like  afi'ectation  to  hear  so 
many  assert  that  they  have  discovered  and  can  comprehend 
it.  If  I  can  pardon  myself  for  venturing  an  opinion  upon 
Michael  Angelo,  I  should  pronounce  it  a  mass  of  anatomi- 
cal study,  without  being  either  sublime  or  terrible  ; — as  a 
school  of  conception,  contortion  and  grouping  of  every 
possible  kind,  it  is  justly  considered  unrivalled.    This>  fact 


THE  LADY  AND  THE  GOD. 


137 


only  establishes  Angelo's  knowledge  of  the  resources^  and 
his  abilitj  in  handling  the  art ;  but  where  is  the  beauty, 
the  grandeur,  the  horror,  which  this  conception  should  pos- 
sess, if  Angelo  was  such  a  consummate  master  of  the  most 
excellent  ideal  of  the  Art  ?  The  subject  is  one  of  the 
highest  order  for  the  display  of  power  in  all  its  varieties, 
yet  he  contented  himself  with  a  mere  play  of  the  human 
frame.  There  is  nothing  poetical  or  grand  in  the  whole 
affair,  and  with  the  exception  of  the  face  of  the  virgin, 
nothing  pleasing.  Among  the  blest  appears  a  sort  of  dis- 
satisfaction that  they  are  saved,  while  coarse  vulgarity  runs 
riot  among  the  damned.  The  figure  of  Christ  is  more 
like  a  quarrelsome  Athletas,  than  one  whose  indignation 
should  be  tempered  with  sorrow,  even  in  a  just  condemna- 
tion. Let  the  artist  stand  science-struck  before  this  won- 
der of  the  world,  I  shall  require  something  less  scientific 
before  I  can  yield  my  reverential  homage  to  the  great 
Michael  Angelo. 

The  marbles  of  the  Vatican  collection  are  innumerable. 
I  absolutely  grew  weary  of  the  long  line  of  busts,  and 
hastened  to  get  a  look  at  the  Apollo,  the  Laocoon,  the 
Antinous,  and  the  Perseus.  These  famous  characters  have 
separate  vestibules,  so  that  the  eye  may  not  be  disturbed 
by  the  presence  of  mediocrity  when  gazing  at  their  perfec- 
tion. Poetry  has  done  them  no  more  than  justice — they 
have  the  "  odor"  of  immortality,  and  henceforth  the  sculp- 
tor dare  but  imitate — he  cannot  surpass.  My  beautiful 
French  woman  looked  at  the  Apollo  with  real  womanly 
admiration.  By  Jove !  I  envied  the  god !  How  quick 
that  "beautiful  disdain"  of  his  proud  face  would  settle 
into  loveliness  if  she  were  the  Pygmalion  that  waked  him 
into  being.  He  would  step  from  that  pedestal  into  her 
arms,  and  Niobe's  children  might  be  saved. 

I  came  home  to  dinner  with  a  terrific  appetite.    I  must 

12 


138 


TTILD  OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


change  my  place  at  the  table  d'hote;  there  are  three 
Spaniards  abov^e  me  who  could  create  a  famine  in  Anda- 
lusia. Thej  eat  like  God-forsaken  people,  gifted  with  an 
additional  stomach  instead  of  a  soul. 


PALM  SUNDAY. 


The  ceremonies  of  holy  week  have  commenced.  We  had 
the  blessing  of  the  Palms  to-day.  It  may  be  very  interest- 
ing to  the  devotee,  but  I  thought  it  rather  a  tedious  per- 
formance. The  principal  feature  in  the  ceremony  is  the 
procession  round  the  church ;  the  pope  is  carried,  under  a 
canopy,  along  the  aisles,  upon  the  shoulders  of  some  six  or 
eight  men,  followed  by  the  cardinals,  bishops,  and  diplomatic 
body,  with  palms  in  their  hands ;  they  pass  and  repass  the 
whole  length  of  St.  Peter's,  between  lines  of  Swiss  Guards 
and  the  devotional  multitude.  The  Pope  would  have  quite 
a  benevolent  looking  face,  w^ere  it  not  for  the  artificial 
humility  which  he  labors  to  assume ;  his  nose  is  of  the 
bottle  order,  and  decidedly  bad — they  say  he  is  afflicted 
with  cancer  in  this  organ.  There  is  a  striking  contrast 
between  his  affected  humbleness  of  demeanor  and  the 
natural  bearing  of  the  whole  school  of  Cardinals ;  they 
don't  pretend  to  even  the  common  decencies  of  devotion, 
but  are  continually  looking  around  at  the  women,  and  dis- 
playing their  diamond  rings :  with  few  exceptions,  they 
all  bear  the  marks  of  pride,  levity,  and  hypocrisy  stamped 
upon  their  features.  I  have  never  yet  seen  a  body  of  men 
who  struck  me  so  unfavorably,  and  whose  manner  so 
strengthened  this  impression,  as  the  Roman  Cardinals. 
The  church  could  scarcely  be  called  crowded,  and  yet 
what  a  mass  of  people !  one  can  only  judge  of  the  immense 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  PALMISTET! 


139 


space  in  St.  Peter's,  by  seeing  thousands  round  its  altars. 
The  papal  throne  and  crimson  hangings  were  very  magnifi- 
cent. Here  the  pomp  and  ceremony  of  the  Roman  church 
finds  a  fit  theatre  for  its  display — yet  it  was  less  imposing 
— less  captivating  than  I  had  anticipated.  The  character 
of  the  audience  destroys  all  solemnity,  and  while  the  "  Sta- 
bat  mater"  may  be  singing,  one  must  not  be  surprised  if 
the  spectators  are  amusing  themselves  in  a  variety  of 
•ways.  I  noticed  one  gentleman  near  me  fingering  the 
waist  of  his  delicate  neighbor,  and  the  blessing  of  the 
palms  was  a  matter  of  very  little  consequence  compared  to 
his  present  employment.  It  is  regarded  rather  as  a  spec- 
tacle than  a  religious  ceremony. 


LEAF  XXL 

SUBURBAN  RAMBLES. 

Frescati,  April  3d. 
We  made  an  excursion  to  Frescati,  and  came  near 
freezing  as  we  drove  across  the  Campagna.  The  wind 
had  a  fair  sweep  at  us,  and  the  dust  was  awful.  It  is  the 
most  dreary  looking  piece  of  country  I  have  ever  seen. 
At  Frescati  they  charged  us  eight  pauls  for  dinner,  right 
in  the  teeth  of  an  agreement  for  six  pauls  per  head.  The 
scoundrel  attributed  it  to  our  bad  Italian,  and  insinuated 
that  we  were  not  quite  perfect  in  our  pronunciation  of  the 
numerical  alphabet.     This  was  aggravating.  However, 

he  balanced  accounts  by  giving  D  an  enormous  bed 

for  the  night.  It  was  a  real  royal  aff'air — room  for  a  regi- 
ment, and  space  left.  There  was  some  difficulty  in  climb- 
ing in  without  steps  :  but  when  once  bedded,  there  was  no 


140 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


danger  of  ever  rolling  out.    D  's  frail  body  was  lost 

in  the  vast  extent  of  surface ;  and  his  voice  sounded  as 
one  "coming  from  the  wilderness."  He  had  to  be  waked 
half  an  hour  earlier  in  the  morning,  to  allow  him  time  to 

travel  from  the  centre  to  the  margin.    Q  ,  before 

going  to  sleep,  entertained  himself  with  a  labored  argu- 
ment upon  the  usefulness  of  missionary  societies,  and  most 

preposterously  appealed  to  D          for  the  truth  of  his 

assertion.  Now  this  was  worse  than  playing  a  game  of 
chess  across  the  Atlantic ;  for,  without  the  aid  of  a  speak- 
ing trumpet,  it  was  impossible  to  hear  D  reply  :  so 

we  insisted  upon  Q  going  instantaneously  to  sleep. 

We  got  into  the  saddle  about  sunrise.  Tusculum  was 
our  first  point  of  attack.  We  reached  it  after  a  two  hours' 
ride,  interspersed  with  several  spirited  scrub  races,  in  one 
of  which  we  nearly  ran  down  a  return  party  of  mules. 
Tusculum  has  an  Amphitheatre  and  a  Curia.  It  did  not 
take  us  long  to  exhaust  our  admiration,  and  we  were  soon 
on  the  route  for  Monte  Cavi.  We  passed  through  a  place 
called  "  Rocca  del  Papi," — dirty  and  picturesque  in  the 
extreme. 

From  the  top  of  Monte  Cavi  we  had  a  splendid  view  of 
Rome — the  Tiber — the  whole  waste  of  the  Campagna — 
the  olive  groves  of  Frescati — the  Sabine  Hills  and  "  Nemi 
navelled  in  the  woody  heights ;" — even  the  white  surf  of 
the  Mediterranean  could  be  seen  along  the  far  horizon. 
It  was  certainly  very  beautiful.  But  still,  the  contrast 
between  the  rich  foliage  of  Frescati,  and  the  desolate, 
houseless  Campagna  was  strikingly  mournful.  There  lay 
the  Imperial  City,  the  centre  of  a  wide,  encircling  solitude 
— like  a  fated  thing,  around  which  the  destroyer  has 
drawn  his  accursed  line.  From  the  groves  of  Frescati  to 
the  very  walls  of  Rome — from  the  shore  of  the  sea  to  the 
base  of  Soracte's  ridge — Death  reaps  continual  harvest 


"sour  grapes." 


141 


The  still  breathing  embers  of  the  World's  Mistress  are 
hedged  about  with  the  pestilential  air  of  a  sepulchre,  and 
each  throb  of  living  Rome  almost  touches  the  garment  of 
the  destroyer.  The  Monastery  on  Monte  Cavi  might  well 
be  a  cure  for  ambition ;  when,  in  its  silent  cells,  the 
active  mind  had  framed  its  airy  thrones,  and  rose  in  fancy 
its  usurping  height,  one  look  from  the  lofty  casement 
would  show  the  worth  of  worldly  glory.  A  nation  of 
Emperors  sleeps  below  !  Who  and  what  are  they,  and 
what  could  he  be  ?   But  we  are  becoming  philosophical. 

They  gave  us  a  wretched  dinner  at  the  Monastery,  for 
which  we  paid  one  scudi — or  rather,  the  church  received 
one  scudi,  and  the  dinner  was  gratis.  Beautiful,  sophisti- 
cated shadow  of  conscience ! 

We  reached  Rome  in  time  to  hear  the  first  "Miserere" 
in  the  Sistine  Chapel.  It  was  crowded,  and  the  heat  very 
oppressive.  I  knew  nothing  about  music,  and  it  was  more 
from  a  sense  of  duty  that  I  attended  the  performance  of 
this  famous  piece.  The  singing  is  doubtless  very  fine,  but 
scarcely  repays  one  for  the  fatigue  encountered  in  hearing 
it.  One  must  go  an  hour  beforehand,  and  then  listen  to 
an  apparently  endless  repetition  of  chaunting  before  the 
gem  is  sung.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  presence  of  one  or 
two  beautiful  women,  and  the  prospect  of  a  fight  with  a 
contemptible  sprig  of  English  nobility,  who  would  not 
Btand  still,  I  should  never  have  survived  the  whole  affair. 
I  saw  the  handsome  French  woman  going  through  her 
devotions  at  a  side  altar,  which  was  extravagantly  deco- 
rated with  candles.  Nobodj^  but  the  Beast  was  about, 
and  I  had  a  good  look  at  her.  She  prayed  long  and  fer- 
vently :  one  might  have  supposed  she  was  asking  Heaven 
to  make  an  angel  of  her  husband.  After  all,  there  is 
something  about  her  smile  not  altogether  right.  It  is  not 
absolutely  silly — but  there  is  an  absence  of  that  bright 


142 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


intelligence  which  is  the  soul  of  a  smile :  but  perhaps  this 
idea  is  founded  on  the  sour-grape  principle — so  we  won't 
analyze  it. 

To-day  his  Holiness  was  very  busy  in  his  offices  of 
humiliation.  After  ''blessing  the  oil"  he  proceeded  to 
wash  the  feet  of  twelve  pilgrims,  that  is  to  say,  certain 
persons  dressed  in  white  and  ranged  on  a  platform,  whose 
feet  had  been  previously  well  scrubbed  for  the  occasion. 
"Very  little  of  the  ceremony  could  be  seen ;  the  pilgrims 
looked  more  like  criminals  dressed  for  execution.  His 
Holiness,  after  tucking  up  his  clothes  and  stooping  to  the 
work,  was  so  surrounded  by  his  attendants  that  it  was 
impossible  to  ascertain  what  he  was  about.  The  banquet 
followed,  at  which  the  pope  played  the  character  of  ser- 
vant to  the  aforementioned  pilgrims ;  altogether  the  most 
derogatory  exhibition  yet  enacted.  I  do  not  wish  to 
speak  slightingly  of  these  august  things,  but  to  say  the 
least  it  is  confounded  bad  taste  to  perform  so  literally 
those  acts  which  in  Jesus  Christ  were  godlike  and  charac- 
teristic humility,  but  which,  in  a  pope  of  Rome,  degenerate 
into  the  broadness  of  caricature.  Humility  don't  consist 
in  feet-washing,  and  if  the  people  require  to  be  reminded 
of  this  fact,  in  the  life  of  our  Saviour  there  are  other 
ways  equally  forcible  for  quickening  the  memory,  without 
burlesquing  Holy  Writ. 


TIVOLI. 

Drove  to  Tivoli  to  see  the  Falls.  They  are  pretty 
enough — plenty  of  foam — but  rather  a  small  supply  of 
water.  They  belong  to  the  ribbon  order  of  cascades,  and 
just  about  large  enough  to  make  a  good  tail  for  the  Horse 


A  RAMBLE  ABOUT  TIYOLI. 


143 


"mentioned  in  the  Apocalypse" — what  a  singular  idea 
that  of  Byron's !  We  labored  about  under  a  most  oppres- 
sive sun,  and  were  fools  enough  to  walk  some  two  miles  out 
of  our  way  to  look  at  an  old  Roman  bridge,  which  proved 
to  be  nothing  more  than  a  common  arch  thrown  over  a 
little  rivulet  some  ten  feet  wide.  I  should  have  pitched 
our  guide  into  it  had  the  water  been  deep  enough  to  drown 
the  scoundrel. 

The  Sybil's  Temple  is  a  "little  love"  of  a  ruin,  and, 
seen  from  the  ravine,  is  charming.  We  did  not  get  into 
Hadrian's  Villa,  as  we  had  forgotten  to  procure  a  permit. 
I  was  not  sorry,  as  I  felt  no  inclination  to  be  detained  at 
least  an  hour  scanning  doubtful  memorials. 

On  our  return,  we  induced  three  peasant  boys  to  run 
about  a  mile  after  our  carriage,  showing  them  a  bajocci 
whenever  they  felt  inclined  to  give  up  the  chase.  We 
finally  distributed  the  copper  spoil,  and  got  up  quite  an 
interesting  fight  among  the  parties.  The  smallest  boy,  as 
usual,  managed  to  secure  the  prize,  and  we  left  him  in  an 
energetic  attempt  to  maintain  it.  These  Romans  are,  with- 
out exception,  the  most  persevering  beggars  in  the  world, 
— it  is  their  ruling  passion, — and  the  eloquence  of  Cicero 
still  lives  in  the  supplicating  prayer  of  these  vagabonds. 
The  blind,  the  lame,  and  the  decrepid,  form  a  hospital  at 
the  entrance  to  the  principal  churches — while  the  juvenile 
community  range  the  streets.  A  month  in  Rome  case- 
hardens  most  men,  and  one  becomes  deaf  to  all  eternity. 


April  7th. 

Easter  Sunday.  At  twelve  o'clock  the  Benediction 
of  the  Pope  was  given  from  the  Balcony  of  St. 
Peter's.  The  area  in  front  of  the  church  was  a  com- 
plete jam.  The  soldiers  were  drawn  up  at  the  foot 
of  the  steps — the  cavalry  were  ranged  between  the  two 


144 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


fountains.  "Most  of  the  strangers  had  places  over  the 
colonnades — the  citizens  and  peasantry  stood  immedi- 
ately under  the  Pope.  It  s^'as  quite  a  spectacle.  As 
soon  as  his  Holiness  appeared  at  the  Balcony,  the 
whole  crowd  kneeled.  Something,  I  know  not  what, 
was  read.  Cannons  fired,  bells  rung,  and  heretics  were 
damned.  It  was  a  matter  of  some  fifteen  minutes. 
There  was  a  great  scramble  among  the  believers  for 
certain  scraps  of  paper — probably  indulgencies,  which 
were  distributed  from  above  after  the  blessing  had 
been  pronounced.  In  the  palmy  days  of  Roman 
belief,  the  effect  of  such  a  scene  must  have  been 
sublime.  Thousands  in  the  beauty  of  faith  and  the 
ardor  of  holiness — men  in  steel,  whose  only  law  was 
will,  whose  only  conqueror  the  Cross — kneeling  in 
abject  submission  under  the  outstretched  arms  of  an 
infirm  old  man,  whose  voice  scarce  broke  the  silence 
of  their  deep  humility!  What  is  it  now?  An  empty 
show.  The  great  majority  neither  sharing  in  its  solem- 
nity nor  believing  in  its  efiicacy.  The  illumination  of 
St.  Peter's  is  brilliant  beyond  compare.  Seen  from 
the  Pincian  Hill  it  is  indescribably  grand.  From  its 
base  to  the  topmost  cross,  the  whole  outline  stands 
perfectly  revealed.  It  seems  to  hang  in  mid-heaven, 
or  be  traced  with  lines  of  fire  against  the  sky.  No- 
thing could  give  one  a  better  idea  of  its  splendid,  yet 
gigantic  proportions :  those  details,  which  at  other 
times  distract  the  eye,  are  gone.  The  huge  mass  j 
has  disappeared,  and  in  its  stead  rises  a  delicate 
frame-work  of  fire — a  starry  mould  of  some  godlike 
temple,  which  the  imagination  might  conceive  but 
dared  not  fashion.  Its  range  of  columns,  base,  shaft, 
and  capital,  in  liquid  light — the  lofty  dome,  spread- 
ing so  gloriously  above  the  frail  fretwork,  looks  more 
like  some    enchanted  spell  than    reality.      Hour  after 


ILLUMINATION  OF  ST.  PETER's  !  145 


hour  we  stood  gazing  at  this  masterpiece  of  architec- 
tural daring,  seen  for  the  first  time  to  advantage,  and 
the  genius  of  Michael  Angelo  was  avenged. 


April  8th. 

Spent  a  whole  day  in  the  studios  of  Rome.  I  found 
several  interesting  models  of  Thorwalsden's.  Among 
the  rest,  that  of  Byron  and  the  Dead  Lion.  His 
famous  work  of  Christ  and  the  Twelve  Apostles  will 
hardly  be  completed  during  his  lifetime.  Crawford, 
the  American,  has  finished  some  fine  pieces,  and  is 
at  present  modeling  an  Adam  and  Eve.  It  seems  too 
large ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  judge  of  the  eiTect  in 
its  unfinished  state.  He  is  considered  one  of  the  most 
promising  sculptors  in  Rome.  A  Hero  and  Leander, 
by  Steinhauser,  has  an  easy,  graceful  air  in  its  arrange- 
ment, quite  captivating;  but  the  marble  is  faulty.  It 
is  intended  more  for  the  garden  than  the  saloon. 

The  Germans  appear  to  be  the  best  artists  here ; 
but  I  saw  nothing  very  excellent  or  original,  with,  per- 
haps, the  exception  of  a  few  peasant  pieces  by  Weller, 
which  were  to  the  life.  In  the  course  of  my  visits, 
I  only  met  one  model  girl ;  she  was  about  eighteen, 
and  had  a  remarkably  sweet  face.  These  girls  are 
said  to  be  virtuous,  but  I  must  be  allowed  a  large 
degree  of  skepticism  upon  that  point.  They  are  no 
doubt  very  virtuous  out  of  the  studios,  but  it  is  all 
nonsense  to  tell  me  that  a  young  girl — and  an  Italian 
one,  too — can  be  attitudinizing  under  the  scrutiny  of 
an  artist,  and  keep  her  blood  in  a  cold,  divine  abstrac- 
tion by  some  unearthly  influence  of  the  high  art  she 
is  aiding.  Bah !  it  savours  of  gammon.  Flesh  and 
blood  don't  recognize  such  flimsy  cobwebs,  nor  is  the 
latitude  of  Rome  a  very  safe  place  for  the  experiment, 
K  13 


KG 


iriLD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


LEAF  XXII. 

DEPARTURE  FROM  ROME. 

April  9th. 

Our  holidays  are  over.  Last  night  we  had  the 
last  performance— the  fire-works  at  the  Castle  of  St. 
Angelo.  Alas !  for  the  glory  of  the  tiara !  The 
thunder  of  the  Papal  bull  is  reduced  to  a  rocket,  and 
the  battlements  of  St.  Angelo  frown  with  squibs. 
Old  Rome,  that  poured  her  thousands  upon  the  plains 
of  Pharsalia,  and  choked  the  very  vomitories  of  her 
Coliseum  with  ferocious  masses  to  feast  them  with 
human  blood,  stands  gaping  at  the  fiery  conception 
of  the  Papal  pyrotechnist.  Pshaw  upon  history !  It 
makes  heroes  of  the  past  only  to  belittle  the  present. 
Perhaps  the  very  hunchback  beside  me, — whose  "garlic 
breath,"  still  strong  as  at  the  Lupercal,  sent  forth 
its  "Bravo!"  as  each  rocket  rose  towards  Heaven, — 
was  a  descendant  of  great  Caesar;  or,  it  may  be, 
the  blood  of  Mark  Aurele.  Ye  gods!  If  the  august 
shade  of  Hadrian  could  know  how  his  tomb  is  thus 
annually  besquibbed,  to  amuse  barbaric  strangers !  It 
is  almost  as  bad  as  finding  the  ashes  of  Alexander 
in  a  bung-hole.  I  am  right  glad  these  festivities 
have  ceased ;  one  will  now  be  able  to  see  things  in 
peace  and  comfort.  The  birds  of  passage  will  be  on 
the  wing  to-morrow,  and  in  a  few  days  Rome  will  be 
silent  and  deserted.  The  touring  locusts  will  infest 
Florence  and  Naples  next.     "VYe,  too,  must  think  of 


THli  "NIOBE  of  nations." 


147 


moving.  I  have  wandered  about  here  so  much,  that 
I  know  nearly  every  nook  of  the  Eternal  City.  I 
have  stood  upon  her  Seven  Hills,  and  from  the  soli- 
tary summit  of  Testatio  have  passed  in  review  her 
glories  from  the  step  of  Remus  to  the  leap  of 
Bourbon.  I  have  walked  again  and  again  the  cir- 
cumference of  her  walls,  and  paused  daily  beneath 
her  monuments,  to  realize  the  fact  that  I  was  in 
Rome.  Like  her  early  youth,  she  is  still  a  dream ; 
and  often,  as  one  roams  carelessly  through  her  streets, 
the  sound  of  "  Roma"  falls  upon  the  ear  with  a  start- 
ling cadence,  as  if  the  certainty  of  her  presence  was 
made  manifest  for  the  first  time  to  one's  bewildered 
senses.  It  is  not  the  first  glance  of  Rome,  as  her 
towers  rise  above  the  plain,  that  awakens  the  school- 
boy feeling  of  awe  within  you,  but  after  you  have 
dwelt  amid  its  desolation,  and  familiarized  yourself 
with  its  woe,  you  feel  how  truly  melancholy  has  been 
its  fate.    Truly,'  the  "  Niobe  of  Nations." 


PALAZZO    S  P  A  D  A. 

This  palace  contains  the  statue  of  Pompey,  supposed  by 
antiquarians  to  be  the  one  that  stood  in  the  Curia,  and  at 
whose  base  great  Caesar  fell."  It  is  a  noble  figure,  and 
if  not  the  identical  one,  it  ought  to  be.  We  had  a  Ger- 
man custode  to  show  us  the  pictures.  He  had  ten  times 
the  intelligence  of  these  contemptible  Italian  custodes.  A 
head  of  Seneca,  by  Leonardi  da  Vinci,  and  Dido  on  her 
funereal  pyre,  by  Guercino,  are  the  gems  of  the  collection. 

We  afterwards  went  to  the  Sciarra  Palace.  This  is  a 
small,  but  very  select  gallery — most  all  of  them  eminent. 
The  "Magdalen  del  Radici,"  by  Guido,  comes  nearer  my 
idea  of  a  Magdalen  than  any  I  have  yet  seen.    Passion  is 


148 


WILD    OATS,  SOWxV  ABROAD. 


Still  struggling  with  repentance,  and  the  voluptuous  lip 
yields  with  difficulty  to  her  sorrowing  eyes.  The  woman 
has  just  passed  into  the  saint,  and  there  is  still  enough  of 
earth  left  to  show  how  easily  she  might  once  have  for- 
gotten Heaven.  It  is  a  sad  and  weeping  face  ;  but  it  is 
the  sadness  and  tears  of  a  young  and  handsome  widow 
over  a  lost  husband,  not  the  unutterable  anguish  of  a 
maiden  over  a  lover.  The  indulgence  of  passion  for  pas- 
sion's sake,  can  never  leave  behind  it  such  faces  as  most 
painters  give  to  their  Magdalenes.  Guide  was  aware  of 
this  fact,  and  left  the  trace  of  earth  upon  her  features. 
The  Mistress  of  Titian  did  not  strike  me  as  being  so  lovely 
at  first  blush,  but  after  I  had  seen  it  several  times,  the 
beauty  conquered,  and  became  entrancing — what  aston- 
ishin(T  richness  of  colorino;  in  her  dress !  The  Violin 
Player  of  -Raphael  is  really  perfection ;  it  requires  no 
artistical  skill  to  detect  the  genius  there — it  is  evident 
to  the  poorest  judgment.  Vanity  and  Modesty,  by  Leon- 
ardi  Da  Vinci,  though  extravagantly  admired,  I  did  not 
like.  I  can  see  nothing  upon  the  face  of  Vanity  but  a  dis- 
gusting silliness  which  destroys  the  whole  picture.  There 
is  a  copy  of  the  Fornarini,  by  Julio  Romano,  which  can- 
not be  told  from  the  original.  He  comes  nearer  to  Ra- 
phael in  portraits  than  any  other  painter.  His  splendid 
Caesar  Borgia  still  passes  for  a  Raphael.  They  are  now 
selling  the  collection  of  Cardinal  Fesch ;  but  the  best  pic- 
tures, it  is  said,  have  been  already  sold,  and  the  rest  is 
rubbish.  I  attended  two  sales ;  the  rooms  were  crowded, 
but  the  bidding  was  not  very  brisk.  Two  hundred  dollars 
was  the  highest  priced  picture  sold,  and  that  pronounced 
far  above  its  value.  The  majority  of  the  pictures  offered 
were  indifferent  looking  things,  and  coming  from  any  other 
gallery  than  that  of  Cardinal  Fesch,  would  scarcely  de- 
serve notice.    The  English  seemed  to  be  the  greatest  pur- 


A  GHOSTLY  SCENE. 


149 


chasers.  They  bu}^  every  thing  from  the  tomb  of  Juliet 
down  to  the  god  Priapus.  Would  to  heaven  they  would 
stay  at  home  and  cut  their  throats,  instead  of  seeking  dis- 
traction on  the  continent — or  else  go  to  China.  No  won- 
der Byron  got  sick  at  the  sight  of  them. 


ROMAN  CHURCHES. 

The  churches  of  Rome  appear  to  me  innumerable.  I 
have  been  visiting  some  two  per  day,  and  have  not  "  done 
them  up"  yet.  It  is  a  painful  operation.  Most  of  them 
are  so  dark,  and  the  paintings  so  high  up,  that  one's  eyes 
grow  weary  in  attempting  to  get  a  correct  idea  of  their 
merit. 

I  went  to  Trinita  di  Monte  some  dozen  times  before  I 
could  get  a  sight  of  Volterra's  "Descent  from  the  Cross," 
ranked  among  the  best  paintings  in  the  world — called,  in- 
deed, the  third  best.  It  is  a  picture,  the  great  merit  of 
which  I  never  could  have-  detected.  The  Church  of  Marie 
del  Angeli,  made  from  a  hall  in  the  baths  of  Diocletian,  is 
one  of  the  most  impressive  I  have  ever  entered.  It  is  the 
form  of  a  Greek  cross,  and  its  vastness  falls  at  once  upon 
the  eye,  unbroken  by  the  masses  of  column  which  distract 
the  view  at  St.  Peter's.  It  contains  a  martyrdom  of  St. 
Sebastian  by  Guido,  one  of  his  best  works.  The  tombs 
of  Salvator  Rosa  and  Carlo  Maratta  are  here. 

I  was  some  time  in  hunting  up  the  Church  of  St.  Pietro 
in  Vinculo,"  and  was  finally  led  to  its  very  door  by  a  dark- 
eyed  Roman  girl,  whom  I  stumbled  over,  making  her  toilet 
by  the  Temple  of  Minerva.  I  gave  her  a  paul,  and  wanted 
to  kiss  her  for  her  trouble,  but  the  little  thing  said  I  had 
wicked  eyes,  and  slipped  away  from  me  quite  coquettishly. 
In  this  church  is  the  Moses  of  Angelo ;  it  may  be  sublime, 
but  by  Jove  !  the  horns  on  his  head  look  too  questionable^ 

13* 


150 


WILD  OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


and  his  beard  is  too  majestically  extravagant.  I  cannot 
admire  the  divine  Lawgiver.  There  is  a  statue  of  St.  Su- 
sannah, by  Du  Quesnoy,  in  St.  Maria  de  Loreto,  which  I 
would  not  exchange  for  Moses.  But  then  the  genius  of 
Angelo  appears  again  in  all  its  glory  in  his  Christ,  which 
stands  in  the  church  of  Maria  Sopra  Minerva.  That  is 
incontestably  the  finest  Christ  ever  modeled.  Leo  X. 
and  Cardinal  Bembo  have  tombs  in  Sopra  Minerva.  It 
seems  to  be  a  favorite  church,  I  heard  the  Pope  say 
Mass  in  person  there.    Yet  it  is  very  ordinary-looking. 

Annexed  to  the  Capuchin  church  are  vaults,  in  whieh 
dead  bodies  from  some  quality  in  the  soil,  are  preserved 
from  decay  for  an  incredible  length  of  time.  "We  visited 
these  mummies,  and  it  is  quite  amusing  to  see  what  a  fan- 
ciful arrangement  exists  in  the  distribution  of  these  de- 
parted monks.  Arms,  legs  and  skulls  are  interspersed  in 
the  most  ornamental  manner  ;  while  one  of  the  defunct 
brotherhood  stands  erect  in  each  corner  of  the  vault,  in  a 
complete  robe  of  the  order,  with  his  cowl  drawn  over  his 
half-fleshless  skull,  like  some  ghostly  guardian  of  the  char- 
nel-house. The  lamps  that  hang  from  the  ceiling  are  made 
from  a  part  of  the  pelvis  and  the  small  bones  of  the  spine, 
and  might  form  excellent  patterns  for  some  original  manu- 
facturer of  astrals.  The  monk  vrho  showed  us  the  pre- 
mises was  a  sensual-looking  scamp,  and  laughed  as  heartily 
as  we  did  at  the  arrangement.  I  told  him  they  would  peal 
his  skull  some  day  to  make  a  fashionable  solar  lamp. 
"Very  probable,"  says  he,  and  grinned  with  all  the  indif- 
ference of  a  man  of  enlarged  scientific  views.  In  the 
church  is  the  picture  of  the  Archangel  Michael,  by  Guide. 
The  face  is  superb.  The  sybils  of  Raphael  are  in  Maria 
del  Pace.  This  church  is  so  small,  and  was  so  crowded  oir 
my  visit,  that  I  did  not  get  a  good  opportunity  to  see 
them. 


^'  HONI  SOIT  QUI  MAL  Y  PENSE  !" 


151 


LEAF  XXIII. 

THE    ARTS    OF  ROME, 

April  11,   . 

To-day  I  took  a  tremendous  walk  through  the  Trasta- 
vere, — one  of  the  old  Quarters  of  Rome, — and  then 
mounted  the  hill  to  the  church  of  St.  Onofrio.  There  is 
a  fine  view  of  the  city  from,  its  portico  ;  and  within  its 
walls  are  the  tombs  of  Tasso'and  of  Barclay.  [By  the  way 
I  must  read  Barclay's  Agenis.]  The  gardens  in  this  neigh- 
borhood are  beautiful ;  that  attached  to  the  Corsini  Pa- 
lace reminded  me  of  Naples.  The  sun  was  dreadfully  op- 
pressive, and  I  turned  into  St.  Peter's  to  avoid  the  mid- 
day heat ;  here  the  temperature  appears  to  be  always  the 
same,  and  It  is  quite  a  luxury  to  pass  from  the  sultry  glare 
of  noon-day  into  its  cool  sublimity.  I  "loafed"  about, 
looking  at  the  tombs  and  mosaics,  until  the  hour  of  vespers. 
There  is  little  to  admire  in  the  extravagant  masses  of  mar- 
ble which  mark  the  resting-places  of  the  many  popes,  who 
sleep  in  this  most  glorious  temple.  There  is  too  much 
sameness  of  design,  and  repetition  of  faith  and  charity  in 
all  of  them.  The  genius  of  Canova  is  only  visible  in  the 
Two  Lions  that  guard  the  ashes  of  Clement,  and  it  disap- 
pears entirely  in  his  Monument  to  the  Last  of  the  Stuarts. 
One  can  scarcely  believe  it  to  be  his  work.  Could  not 
such  a  sculptor  as  Canova  rise  to  a  higher  and  more  original 
conception  to  hallow  the  eternal  rest  of  the  last  of  that  un- 
happy race  of  kings  ?  His  kneeling  figure  of  Pius  by  the 
shrine  of  St.  Peter  is  simple  and  life-like — perhaps  the  best 
of  his  sepulchral  productions.  There  is  a  very  voluptuous 
marble  figure  of  a  female  in  the  transept,  which  Bernini 


152  WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


was  called  upon  to  drape.  She  certainly  has  a  rather 
worldly  appearance  for  an  ornament  to  a  tomb.  But,  in 
my  opinion,  Bernini's  bronze  drapery  has  not  remedied 
the  matter,  as  it  only  -wakes  attention  to  what  might  other- 
wise escape  observation,  and  each  one  is  only  the  more 
anxious  to  learn  the  incident  connected  with  its  coverino^. 

o 

In  the  admiration  of  art,  passion  should  sleep. 


PALAZZO  ROSPIGLIOSO. 

In  a  Casino  of  this  palace  is  the  oft-copied  Aurora  of 
Guide.  It  is  the  favorite  fresco,  and  one  never  gets  tired 
looking  at  it.  There  is  so  much  variety,  grace  and  pretti- 
ness  in  the  Hours,  that  no  matter  how  different  may  be 
the  taste  of  the  individual,  each  can  find  something  in 
them  to  admire.  There  is  also  another  picture  of  Guide's 
here,  Andromeda  chained  to  the  Rock.  She  is  just  the 
kind  of  Andromeda  I  should  like  to  rescue. 


We  have  made  our  last  visit  to  the  Capitol,  and  looked 
for  the  last  time  upon  the  Dying  Gladiator.  Apart  from 
the  ideal,  it  is  the  most  astonishing  piece  of  sculpture  in 
the  world.  A  man,  a  real  man,  is  dying  before  your  eyes 
every  time  you  look  upon  that  marble.  Every  moment, 
you  expect  to  see  the  arm,  on  which  he  leans,  relax,  and 
the  body  drop  unnerved  in  death.  It  is  truly  wonderful 
how  genius  could  so  completely  seize  nature  in  that  slight 
pause  between  time  and  eternity,  and  fix  it  for  ever. 

I  found  the  English  girl,  who  travelled  with  us  from  Na- 
ples, admiring  the  Antinous.  The  inexorable  uncle  stood 
by  her  elbow.  We  exchanged  salutations,  and  I  expressed 
my  surprise  that  we  had  not  met  oftener  in  our  many  sight- 
seeing peregrinations  about  Eome.  The  uncle  gave  a  satis- 
Qed  grin,  which  expressed  any  thing  but  regret  at  the  cir- 


A  "ball"  without  music. 


CLimstance.  I  did  not  notice  the  old  villain,  but  ventured 
to  hope  to  her  that  we  might  find  each  other  on  the  road 
to  Florence.    She  laughed  wickedly,  and  said, 

"Perhaps  you  mean  when  we  exchange  coaches." 

I  bowed  myself  off  triumphantly,  and  in  my  satisfaction 
came  near  stepping  upon  the  Mother  of  jSTero,  who  was 
sitting  in  her  marble  stilhiess,  the  very  beau  ideal  of  a 
Roman  matron.  The  renowned  Bronze  Wolf  is  alarming- 
ly ugly — just  the  kind  of  thing  one  might  suppose  would 
be  struck  with  lightning. 

D  insisted  upon  mounting  the  Tower  of  the  Capi- 
tol. As  it  was  rather  warm,  I  declined,  and  took  a  seat 
at  the  base  of  the  equestrian  statue  of  Marcus  Antoninus 
until  his  return.  Here  I  was  assailed  by  any  amount  of 
vagabonds,  and  compelled  at  last  to  take  refuge  in  the 
Church  of  Ara  Coeli," — but  there  were  more  beggars  in- 
side than  out,  so  I  was  glad  to  mount  the  Tower  in  order 
to  escape  persecution.  This  climbing  of  steeples  was 
never  a  favorite  amusement  of  mine.  It  has  a  tread-mill 
air  about  it  confoundedly  disagreeable,  and  one  don't  feel 
at  home  so  far  above  one's  neighbors.  I  got  enough  of 
fresh  air  for  a  season  the  morning  we  ascended  St.  Peter's, 
besides  being  compelled  to  remain  at  least  five  minutes  in 

that  infernal  copper  ball  up  there,  because  I   stuck 

fast  in  the  aperture,  and  could  neither  get  up  or  down. 
It  was  horrible  !  The  heated  atmosphere  and  copper 
taste,  from  the  action  of  the  hot  sun  without,  was  enough 
to  stifle  a  dog,  while  the  effort  to  hurry  the  fat  man 
through  only  increased  our  torment.  It  was  like  being 
buried  alive  in  a  cursed  still.    I  should  have  skinned  poor 

I         like  an  eel,  rather  than  have  stayed  there  another 

minute.  I  shall  crawl  into  no  more  balls,  at  least  in  ad- 
vance of  ambitious  fat  men.  I  don't  want  to  immortalize 
myself  by  any  such  manoeuvre.    One  would  look  well 


154 


y,'ILD    OATS,  SO^^X  ABROAD. 


corked  up"  in  the  Ball  of  St.  Peter,  like  a  monster  in  a 
bottle,  "  solitary  and  alone,"  to  reflect  upon  the  grandeur 
of  one's  tomb. 


April  13,  . 

Walked  out  the  Appian  Way  to  the  tomb  of  Cecilia 
^retella,  and  from  there  to  the  new  church  of  St.  Paul. 
It  will  be  very  magnificent  when  finished  ;  but  it  is  ridicu- 
lous to  waste  so  much  money  on  a  church  in  a  neighbor- 
hood scarcely  habitable  one  half  the  year,  on  account  of 
the  Maremme.  On  our  return,  we  took  a  glance  at  the 
Catacombs.  They  are  immense  in  extent,  but  rather  un- 
pleasant places  to  be  wandering  about  in.  When  we  got 
to  our  hotel,  the  valet  told  us  there  was  "  a  fete"  at  the 
Doria  Villa.  Without  tliinking,  we  jumped  into  the  car- 
riage, and  drove  to  the  Villa.  We  had  scarcely  entered 
before  we  discovered  that,  instead  of  a  rustic  fete  as  we 
had  imagined,  the  aristocracy  of  Rome  were  revelling. 
There  was  an  abundance  of  "white  kids"  and  dress  vests, 
and  as  we  had  not  been  invited,  it  was  thought  advisable 
to  retreat.  I  felt  like  kicking  our  valet,  as  far  as  the 
walls  of  the  city,  and  then  throwing  him  over.  But  the 
poor  devil  did  not  know  any  better.  He  thought  we  would 
like  to  look  on.  He  had  no  idea  that  American  equality 
either  participates  or  withdraws.  They  will  never  learn 
the  American  character  in  Europe.  We  are  no  doubt  a 
gaping,  intruding  people,  but  we  never  offend  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  a  secondary  character.  We  murder  in  the 
first  degree,  and  when  we  make  up  our  mind  to  look  at  an 
emperor,  we  assume  the  emperor  too,  for  the  occasion. 

That  Doria  Villa  is  a  lovely  spot.  Nature  and  art 
seemed  to  have  vied  with  each  other  to  beautify  it — but 
rumor  says  it  is  unhealthy.  There  are  many  fine  villas 
about  Rome — but  they  want  the  blue  Mediterranean  to 


SCENES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


155 


equal  those  of  Naples.  Most  of  them  are  thrown  open  to 
the  public,  and  the  Borghese  is  a  favorite  Sunday  resort. 
The  game  of  "  II  Moro"  goes  on  in  its  neighborhood  quite 
as  extensively  as  "  Thimble-  Rig"  on  one  of  our  race- 
courses. It  seems  to  be  the  only  game  indulged  in  here.  It 
requires  too  much  practice  for  a  stranger  to  attempt,  and 
I  suspect  his  education  would  be  a  costly  business  among 
such  swindlers  as  these. 


LEAF  XIV. 

"FIRENZA  LA  BELLA." 

Five  days  of  vetturino  travelling  is  no  slight  matter. 
One  must  get  up  at  two  in  the  morning,  and  then  have  to 
race  all  day  long  with  the  other  carriages,  in  order  to  get 
a  bed  at  night.  I  cannot  imagine  what  would  have  be- 
come of  us  if  our  horses  had  not  been  so  good;  we  should 
certainly  have  starved  on  the  route.  Our  carriage  was 
the  sixth  that  left  the  gates  of  Rome  on  the  17th  of  April 
for  Florence.  We  were  too  lazy  to  start  early  on  the  first 
morning,  and  our  poor  horses  had  to  make  up  for  this 
deficiency  in  our  own  energy.  We  had  three  elegant 
black  steeds  and  a  capital  driver.  We  had  given  a  good 
price,  and  promised  an  extraordinary  "buona  mana,"  if 

his  driving  answered  our  expectations.    I  ,  D  , 

and  T          had  the  inside ;  Q  and  myself  took  the 

front. 

It  was  after  seven  o'clock  A.  M.  before  we  crossed  the 
Tiber  ;  ou^-  lead  and  off  horse  were  perfection — real  devils. 


150 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


In  three  hours'  time  they  brought  us  in  sight  of  our  oppo- 
nents !  It  wanted  but  an  hour  to  the  breakfast  station, 
and  in  vetturino  travelling  every  thing  depends  upon  com- 
ing first  to  the  different  stopping  places — particularly  at 
night — for  there  is  generally  but  one  good  hotel,  and  when 
thirty  or  forty  are  to  be  accommodated,  beds  are  at  a 
premium — to  say  nothing  of  the  entire  consumption  of 
food  by  the  early  comers.  An  Italian  larder  is  never 
very  productive,  and  rarely  stands  the  fierce  assault  of  the 
famished  travellers.  The  first  carriage  we  passed  submit- 
ted without  a  struggle.  I  noticed  De  Brescia  and  some 
other  Frenchmen  in  it.  The  second  contained  the  Spa- 
niards who  had  been  my  neighbors  at  the  table  d'hote.  I 
thanked  my  stars  as  we  brushed  by  them,  for  if  they  ever 
get  in  first,  it  will  be  famine  for  the  hindmost.  No  3 
had  four  horses,  with  courier  and  servant-maid  in  the  rum- 
ble. We  failed  in  our  first  dash  at  them,  and  they  kept 
the  road.  My  lady's  maid  laughed  at  our  ambitious  at- 
tempt, but  I  told  her  to  wait  a  moment.  A  short  distance 
further,  and  we  came  to  the  top  of  a  hill.  Now  our  forte 
was  down  hill,  and  we  gave  the  off-horse,  Bucephalus,  the 

rein,  Q  ,  the  driver  and  myself  holding  on  to  the 

break.  The  postillion  saw  us  coming  down  upon  him  like 
mad.  My  lady's  maid  set  up  a  scream,  expecting  to  be 
run  into.  The  ruse  succeeded.  They  gave  us  the  road, 
and  we  flew  by  deliciously.  I  had  just  time  to  see  Beauty 
and  the  Beast  in  the  carriage.  Here,  however,  our  victo- 
rious career  was  stopped  by  an  English  posting  party.  It 
is  contrary  to  law  to  pass  post  horses,  so  we  attempted  to 
bribe  their  postillion  ;  but  it  was  no  go.  We  had  to  keep 
the  rear,  until  they  changed  horses,  which  gave  us  the 
lead. 

At  the  breakf^\sting  station  we  found  a  party  of  four 
Dutch  girls  and  "Mama."    They  had  left  Rome  two 


THE  "tug  of  war." 


157 


hours  in  advance  of  us,  and  declared  their  intention  to 
keep  the  lead  throughout — up  to  the  very  gates  of  Flo- 
rence. We  laughed  at  the  idea.  That  night  they  cer- 
tainly did  get  to  Civita  Castellana  before  us ;  but  then  we 
were  kept  back  by  the  infernal  post  carriage.  We  came 
in  third  best,  and  had  quite  a  row  before  we  could  succeed 
in  procuring  a  bed  a-piece.  The  maitre  d'hotel  could  not 
imagine  why  we  objected  to  two  in  a  bed.  I  told  him  if 
he  could  arrange  it  with  the  handsome  French  woman,  I 
would  be  delighted  to  share  with  her ;  but,  as  to  sleeping 
with  a  man,  it  was  uncivilized  and  unnatural.  The  English 
party  consisted  of  two  women ;  they  had  only  a  courier 
with  them,  and  looked  like  crab-apples.  By  dint  of  a  lit- 
tle hard  swearing,  we  succeeded  in  arranging  for  ourselves, 
but  Avhat  became  of  the  other  parties  is  a  mystery. 

The  next  morning  we  rose  at  two  o'clock  A.  M.  got 
the  lead,  and  kept  it  all  the  way  to  Terni.  Here  we  had 
plenty  of  time  left  to  see  the  Falls.  They  are  some  three 
or  four  miles  from  the  town — much  prettier  than  Tivoli, 
but  scarcely  deserving  that  glorious  description  of  Byron's. 

Our  third  day's  drive  brought  us  to  Foligno.  We  saw 
nothing  of  our  opponents  during  th^  day,  as  Foligno  is 
quite  a  large  town,  and  has  several  hotels.  We  got  into 
miserable  quarters  here.  The  dinner  was  abominable,  and 
the  scoundrel  pretended  not  to  know  how  an  omelette  was 
made.    We  soon  taught  him. 

Our  next  day's  work  was  the  ''tug  of  war."  The  dis- 
tance was  greater,  and  there  was  only  one  hotel  for  the 
whole  party,  and  that  in  no  very  good  repute.    They  all 

got  the  start  of  us,  owing  to  D  's  determination  to  eat 

boiled  eggs  before  setting  out.  It  was  a  well-contested 
race ;  our  horses,  to  be  sure,  had  already  acquired  a  repu- 
tation, and  it  was  known  that  we  could  and  would  pay 
damages.    The  Spanish  party  fought  hard ;  they  kept 

14 


158 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


their  horses  on  the  run  some  three  or  four  miles,  but  it 
was  no  use — we  glided  by  them  under  a  quiet  trot.  The 
Dutch  struggle  was  less  violent,  but  more  persevering. 
They  seemed  determined  to  give  us  some  trouble  before 
we  snatched  the  laurel ;  but  some  hilly  ground  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Trasimene  decided  in  our  favor,  and  "  soli- 
tary and  alone"  our  carriage  rolled  along  the  shores  of 
that  beautiful  lake,  leaving  our  adversaries  far  in  the  rear. 

It  was  just  four  o'clock  when  we  reached  Persigniano, 
and  we  had  even  roamed  as  far  as  the  Sanguinetto  and 
back  again  before  the  other  carriages  drove  up.  Out  of 
compassion,  we  surrendered  duv  rooms  to  the  ladies,  and 
took  the  attic.  The  Spanish  and  French  party  in  despair 
had  stopped  short  of  Trasimene.  The  Dutch  girls  still 
declared  their  intention  of  getting  into  Florence  before  us. 

The  fifth  day  brought  us  to  Levano,  where  we  got  a 
capital  breakfast — indeed,  the  only  decent  meal  we  had. 
At  Arezzo  the  servant  got  alarmed  at  our  consumption  of 
material.  I  never  had  such  an  appetite  in  my  life.  At 
Levano  we  again,  in  a  spirit  of  magnanimity,  gave  up  our 
rooms,  with  the  proviso  that  the  English  were  not  to  have 
them.  Beauty  looked  divine,  but  the  Beast  was  in  a  pet, 
because  his  horses  were  not  so  good  as  ours.  The  maitre 
d'hotel  insisted  upon  our  accepting  an  additional  bottle  of 
wine  in  consideration  of  our  amiability. 

We  were  now  only  thirty  miles  from  Florence,  and  had 
resolved  to  take  it  quite  leisurely  the  next  day.  At  the 
breakfasting  station  we  found  all  except  the  Dutch  party ; 
they  had  not  yet  come  up  ;  but  we  had  scarcely  seated 
ourselves  at  table  before  their  carriage  rattled  by  at  a 
killing  pace,  with  six  horses  and  an  additional  postillion. 
They  laughed  and  waved  their  handkerchiefs  as  they 
passed. — They  were  going  without  breakfast,  in  order  to 
reach  Florence  before  us.    We  called  our  vetturino,  told 


"  THERE  THEY  ARE,  BY  JOVE  !" 


159 


him  he  should  have  another  dollar  if  he  overtook  them, 
and  gave  him  a  tremendous  bumper  of  Tvine.  "Good!" 
sajs  he,  and  in  half  an  hour  we  had  six  horses  too,  and 
were  off.  Bv  Jove  !  it  was  spirited  driving ;  but  we  saAV 
nothing  of  our  Amazonian  challengers.  Mile  after  mile 
we  pushed  on  wickedly  under  a  mid-day  sun — our  driver 
half  drunk  and  our  favorite  steed  Bucephalus  absolutely 
snorting  with  excitement.  Bets  ran  high,  and  already  the 
Cathedral  dome  of  Florence  rose  in  the  distance  !  Things 
were  getting  desperate,  and  we  were  rising  the  last  hill  of 
our  hope.  We  mounted  it  with  trepidation*;  we  made  a 
short  turn  to  the  right,  and,  "There  they  are,  by  Jore!" 

screamed  I  .    We  had   them — scarcely   fifty  yards 

ahead  of  us  !  They  were  taken  all  aback  ;  and  we  dashed 
by  them  with  a  shout  before  their  driver  could  give  his 
horses  the  rein.  We  were  but  a  mile  from  the  gates  of 
Florence  !  One  of  the  girls  broke  her  sunshade  from  mere 
vexation  of  spirit,  and  the  postillion  shook  his  head  in  de- 
spair, as  though  it  were  idle  to  contend  with  that  team ! 

Florence  is  crowded.  We  could  get  no  rooms  at 
the  Hotel  York,  but  have  comfortable  apartments  in 
the  Hotel  Suisse.  Florence  is  a  clean  looking  place, 
and  the  difference  between  the  smiling  faces  of  the 
Florentines  and  the  scowl  of  the  Romans,  is  very  ap- 
parent.     T   has   been   here   several  days,  having 

taken  the  route  by  Civita  Vecchia  and  Leghorn.  I 
must  make  an  excursion  to  Pisa  and  Lucca. 


160 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


LEAF  XXV. 

FLORENCE. 

April  23,  — . 

We  mounted  the  Campanile  this  morning,  and  got 
a  snufF  of  fresh  air.  The  guide,  though  he  did  smell 
shockingly  of  garlic,  gave  us  a  tolerably  correct  idea 
of  the  different  sections  of  the  city,  and  the  situation 
of  the  churches  worth  visiting.    It  evidently  saves  us 

the  expense  of  a  map.    T          is  rather  averse  to  lofty 

positions.  He  hugged  the  balustrade  of  the  Campanile 
with  the  energy  of  despair,  and  could  scarcely  be  per- 
suaded to  take  the  look  perpendicular.  He  was  never 
born  for  a  ''samphire  gatherer."  He  is  now  in  train- 
ing for  the  dizzy  heights  of  Switzerland.  If  he  holds 
on  to  the  cliifs  with  the  crab-like  tenaciousness  which 
he  exercised  this  morning,  there  will  be  some  danger 
of  his  unsettling  them,  and  we  shall  all  roll  into  the 
valley  together. 

The  Duomo  has  a  very  singular  appearance  ;  I 
do  not  know  vrhether  I  like  it  or  not.  The  sights 
of  Florence  are  at  very  convenient  distances  from 
each  other,  and  one  can  "  do  them  up"  in  a  few 
days.  The  Palazzo  Vecchia  looks  as  stern  and-  for- 
bidding as  the  lawless  democracy  that  so  often  ran  riot 
within  its  walls.  We  had  to  ascend  to  the  upper 
story  before  we  could  find  the  custode,  (no  small 
matter,  considering  our  previous  ascent  of  the  Cam- 
panile,) and  then  were  barely  repaid  for  our  labor. 
The  paintings  do  not  possess  any  extraordinary  jnerit, 


THE  K.VVE.N-IIAIKE1)  ONE  ! 


161 


and  the  i^ortrait  of  Bianca  Capello  completely  de- 
stroyed my  ideal  of  that  notorious  creature.  It  has 
vulgarity  stamped  upon  every  feature.  The  David  of 
Angeloj  which  stands  on  the  square  in  front  of  the  Palazzo, 
'is  mean.  It  looks  like  a  famished  boy  who  has  out- 
grown his  strength,  or  labors  under  the  ravages  of  a 
tapeworm.  Even  the  genius  of  Angelo  could  not 
mantle  that  lean  marble's  infirmities.  In  the  Lo^jo-ia, 
by  the  side  of  the  Palazzo,  is  some  fine  sculpture ; 
and  in  the  centre  of  the  square  stands  Cosmo  him- 
self, in  all  the  dignity  of  his  character. 

Most  of  the  churches  in  Florence  are  unfinished, 
and  the  palaces  have  a  gloomy,  feudal  appearance, 
recording  with  their  iron  bars  and  massive  stone,  the 
violence  of  the  age  their  architect  flourished  in.  The 
girls  look  saucy,  liberal,  and  well-fed.  There  is  a 
whole  room  full  of  milliners  just  opposite  my  window. 
Some  of  them  look  enterprising  enough  to  scale  a 
wall;  and  my  morning  salute  is  returned  with  as 
dazzling  an  array  of  white  teeth  as  ever  paralyzed 
a  dentist.  One  of  them  has  a  head  of  hair  which 
the  "wing  of  darkness"  must  have  brooded  over.  My 
sight  weakens  in  the  brilliancy  of  its  gloss.  She 
la^^s  her  hand  upon  it,  and,  though  a  brunette,  the 
contrast  pales  the  fingers  to  ivory.  One  bay-flower 
dashed  into  the  midnight  of  that  hair  would  shame 
the  richest  jewel  in  the  ducal  coronet.  I  don't  gene- 
rally deal  in  a  platonic  exchange  of  such  trifles,  but 
I  really  would  accept  a  lock  of  that  creature's  affec- 
tions. Shall  I  send  the  valet  for  it,  or  go  myself? 
Perhaps  the  most  convenient  way  will  be  to  send  for 
her — it  will  give  a  more  flattering  evidence  of  my 
confidence  in  her  liberality.  This  atmosphere  enlarges 
L  14* 


162 


WILD    OATS,  S>O^YN  ABROAD. 


one's  views  of  society,  and  creates  a  desire  for  a 
more  extensive  range  of  social  freedom.  Is  it  phil- 
osophy or  vice  that  predisposes  one  to  look  lightly 
upon  this  discord  in  the  tone  of  the  moral  world? — 
but  still,  if  one  dip  be  a  "false  harmony,"  it  ia 
excusable  to  play  out  of  tune  in  some  portion  of  it. 

April  24. 

Took  a  run  through  the  gallery  Imperiale ;  met 
T   in  the  tribune,  gazing  on  the  Venus  di  Me- 
dici. She  is  no  doubt  faultless,  but  I  prefer  the 
Naples  rival.  What  treasures  of  Art  does  this  little 
room  contain !  Whichever  way  you  turn,  some  im- 
mortal creation  greets  your  eye.  Every  picture  is  a 
gem,  and  every  piece  of  marble  a  notoriety;  the 
disputed  knife-grinder  stoops  life-like  by  the  side  of 
the  all-conquering  goddess ;  the  intricate  contortion  of 
the  angry  wrestlers  contrasts  well  with  the  easy, 
joyful  abandonment  of  the  Dancing  Fawn;  and  the 
god  of  Music  closes  with  his  entrancing  face  this 
circle  of  exclusives.  From  the  canvas  the  naked 
forms  of  Titian  dazzle  you,  and  the  Fornarini  en- 
chants. The  only  common-looking  picture  in  the  room 
is  a  Virgin  by  Angelo,  which  it  is  to  be  hoped  is 
rather  admired  as  a  rarity  than  for  any  beauty  dis- 
coverable in  it ;  there  is  not  one  quality  of  the 
Virgin  apparent  in  the  picture.  It  is  a  coarse,  cross- 
looking,  middle-aged  woman,  more  like  the  mother  of 
a  large  family,  than  the  sainted  Madonna.  Niobe 
and  her  Children  have  also  a  room  to  themselves.  I 
was  disappointed  in  the  group.  The  face  of  the 
mother  is  poetry,  but  the  children  appeared  rather 
theatrically  "got  up."  The  Mercury  of  John  of  Bologna 
is  truly  wonderful ;  the  gossamer  does  not  mount  the  air 


HEAVEN  AND  HELL  ! 


163 


■with  an  easier  grace.  The  blue-hooded  Magdalene  of 
Sassafarato  is  Heaven  itself.  One  could  give  the  world  to 
call  her  back  from  celestial  glory  to  the  contamination  of 
sense.  What  a  charm  does  such  a  picture  give  to  Reli- 
gion !  Talk  of  mind  and  its  daring  comprehension  of  the 
great  unknown — of  imagination  and  its  bright  conceptions 
of  bliss  beyond  the  grave — what  are  their  cold  and  unem- 
bodied  subtleties  compared  to  the  rapturous  divinity  which 
glows  from  the  canvas  and  fascinates  the  eye  until  the 
heart  worships,  and  fretful  reason  smooths  itself  to  faith 
because  faith  is  so  beautiful  ?  That  one  face  has  a  spell 
fruitful  as  the  blood  of  the  martyrs ; — but  bless  me  !  this 
sounds  like  Mahometanism  !  If  Sassafarato 's  Magdalene 
is  Heaven,  tVere  is  but  one  step  thence  to  Hell,  which  is 
the  Head  of  Medusa,  by  Caravaggio,  in  a  neighboring 
room.  It  is  "  horribly  beautiful" — deliciously  damnable  ! 
It  makes  one's  hair  stand  on  end ;  such  a  livid,  snaky, 
gory,  mutilated  fright.  Heavens !  to  have  those  nasty 
reptiles  hanging  like  matted  locks  about  one's  forehead ! 
It  is  worthy  the  gloomy  pencil  of  Caravaggio. 

We  strolled  afterwards  into  the  Church  of  Santa  Croce. 
It  is  crowded  with  monuments  to  the  illustrious  dead — 
Galileo,  Machiavelli,  Angelo,  Aretino,  and  Alfieri ;  but 
none  of  them  have  the  slightest  originality  of  design. 
Sculpture-painting  and  architecture  figure,  of  course,  upon 
Angelo's  tomb,  and  hope  and  charity  inhabit  the  rest. 

Upon  entering  t^e  church,  Q  ,  not  wishing  to  throw 

away  his  half-smoked  cigar,  thrust  it,  not  quite  extinguished, 
into  his  coat-pocket.  We  had  not  been  there  long  before 
he  came  to  me  and  asked  if  I  did  not  smell  something 
burning.  "I  said  "no,"  though  I  suspected  the  cause. 
He  walked  on,  with  the  smeke  curling  from  his  coat-tail, 
totally  unconscious  of  the  mischief,  while  T   and  my- 
self stood  convulsed  with  laughter.    Again  and  again  he 


164 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


approached  me,  and  asserted  positively  that  something 
must  be  burning.^  We  told  hiin  it  was  the  incense.  At 
last  the  old  sexton,  seeing  the  secret  conflagration,  came 

rushing  up  the  church,  and  seized  Q          by  the  coat-tail 

with  the  anxiety  of  a  father.    "  What  the  deuce  is  the  old 

fellow  about  ?"  says  Q  .    I  thought  I  should  burst  a 

blood-vessel.    T          roared,  and  poor  Q   discovered 

that  he  had  not  only  lost  his  cigar  by  the  operation,  but 
had  destroyed  two-thirds  of  a  very  respectable  coat-tail. 
The  old  sexton  was  too  much  alarmed  to  enjoy  the  joke, 

and  he  probably  imagined  that  T  and  myself  must  be 

the  "devil's  own"  to  allow  a  fellow  creature  thus  to  make 
a  lucifer  match  of  himself.  But  Ave  had  a  high  moral  pur- 
pose in  view,  which  was  to  teach  Q  to  be  less  economi- 
cal in  the  cigar  line.  An  American  should  never  smoke  a 
once  extinguished  cigar. 

The  flower-girls  of  Florence  are  a  nuisance.  One  can 
scarcely  walk  out  without  an  attack  of  bouquets.  It 
sounds  pretty  enough  in  poetry  to  take  flowers  when  the 
beauty  of  the  gift  is  even  surpassed  by  the  beauty  of  the 
giver;  but  with  such  ordinary,  characterless  Nydias  as 
these,  one  would  rather  be  excused  all  contact.  Flowers 
were  not  made  to  be  hawked  about  by  impudent  girls. 
They  are  frail  and  gentle  things,  and  the  eye  that  solicits 
you  to  accept  them  should  sink  at  its  own  impulsive  rash- 
ness, and  not  invite  your  gaze  with  a  licentiousness  of 
look  too  marked  to  be  agreeable.  Hoav  few  women,  after 
all,  know  how  to  use  their  weapons  !  They  owe  their  con- 
quests more  to  man's  eagerness  to  be  overcome  than  to 
their  own  skill.  Enjoy  them  and  the  chain  dissolves,  not 
because  the  man  is  satiated,  but  because  the  woman  is  un- 
skilled and  ignorant  of  her  resources.  She  studios  to  Avin 
and  not  to  keep,  and,  like  Pyrrhus,  her  victory  is  her  ruin. 
ShoAY  me  a  woman  Avho  is  complete  master  of  her  resources. 


THE  "  HA.MLET"  of  SCULPTURE. 


1G5 


you  will  find  her  victim  once  is  her  victim  for  ever.  She 
is  the  conqueror  of  custom,  habit,  and  satiety — she  can 
defy  change. 

April  25 

Michael  Angelo  is  avenged  !  and  before  the  tomb  of 
Lorenzo  de  Medici  I  recognize  the  sovereignty  of  his 
genius.  Originality,  beauty,  solemnity — all  that  combines 
to  catch  the  eye  and  awaken  reflection,  is  there,  stamped 
in  the  immortality  of  marble.  The  simple  arrangement  of 
the  seated  figure  is  kingly,  and  in  the  shaded  and  half-seen 
features  the  very  soul  of  meditation  dreams  its  solemn 
visions.  It  is  the  Hamlet  of  sculpture.  Perhaps  a  shade 
too  gloomy,  but  then  his  footstool  is  a  tomb,  and  his 
thoughts  are  of  the  grave.  His  Day  and  Night  are  less 
intelligible,  but  not  the  less  striking.  The  costly  chapel 
of  the  Medici  is  not  even  a  gorgeous  folly,  and  if  the 
rarity  and  value  of  its  materials  were  not  carefully  pointed 
out,  one  would  pass  through  it  without  the  slightest  idea 
of  the  unparalleled  extravagance  of  its  founder.  In  one 
of  the  cloisters  attached  to  the  Church  of  Annunziati  is  a 
Madonna  del  Sacca,  considerably  damaged,  but  with  as 
heavenly  a  face  as  any  in  Italy.  It  deserves  careful  pre- 
servation, and  were  I  an  artist,  it  should  not  want  a  copy- 
ing. The  pictures  of  Fra  Angelico,  though  remarkable 
productions  for  their  age,  and  interesting  to  students,  are 

strange  affairs.    Q          admires  them  vastly,  but  upon  my 

soul!  I  can  see  nothing  in  them  worth  wasting  time  over. 
This  may  be  a  want  of  taste.  His  Annunciation  is  deci- 
dedly ludicrous  ;  and  in  spite  of  the  gravity  of  our  guide  and 
Q  ,  I  could  not  help  laughing  outright  at  the  perform- 
ance. It  is  hard  to  tell  whether  the  snivel  intends  alio;ht- 
ing  or  returning  again ;  and,  as  to  the  Virgin,  she  appears 
any  thing  but  satisfied  at  the  arrangement.    Then  there  is 


J66 


WILD   OATS,  SOTVN  ABROAD. 


an  immense  flower-garden  to  fill  up  the  foreground,  and 
Linnseus  himself  would  have  been  puzzled  to  death  to  clas- 
sify the  good  father's  plants.  The  toilet  of  the  party  is 
original  in  the  extreme,  and  shows  an  advanced  stage  of 
scenic  effect.  The  wing  of  the  angel  is  reversed,  and 
when  in  motion  would  counteract  the  other.  However,  his 
pictures  are  said  to  have  been  painted  during  fits  of  inspi- 
ration ;  and  such  'things  have  a  license  in  them  not  accor- 
ded to  the  natural  and  common-place. 

Apart  from  sight-seeing  Florence  is  rather  dull.  The 
great  era  of  the  day  is  the  afternoon  drive  on  the  Cascinc, 
or  a  walk  in  the  Boboli  Gardens,  neither  of  which  pos- 
sesses positive  charms  for  an  adventurous  spirit.  The 
theatres  are  good,  and  they  are  moderate  in  price. 

At  the  representation  of  "  II  Bravo"  I  saw  as  sweet 
looking  a  girl  as  ever  tantalized  a  St.  Anthony  ;  she  looked 
every  thing ;  but  what  the  devil  is  a  man  to  do  when  he  can 
not  speak  the  language  ?  After  playing  footman  to  her 
carriage,  and  wafting  her  an  adieu  in  the  most  approved 
fashion,  I  went  and  consoled  myself  with  a  chat  with  the 
charming  Nina — who  by  the  way  must  be  a  descendant  of 
the  Sforzas — she  has  the  imperious  air  of  loyalty,  and  dis- 
penses her  favors  with  the  caprice  of  a  sultana.  My  dark 
haired  Milliner  looks  sad — does  she  think  me  fickle,  or  is 
it  the  fever  of  affection  ?  as  Donna  Julia  sighs — "  I'll  ne'er 

consent,  and  yet  consented."  P  is  fanning  a  Platonic 

attachment,  and  feeds  his  Inamorata's  window  with  a  daily 
Bouquet — well,  it  is  a  cheap  offering — "  Ex  nihil,  nihil  fit." 

T          and  Q          are  amusing  themselves  in  the  same 

quarter — poor  thing  I  can  she  withstand  such  a  legion  ? — 
she  lives  across  the  way,  and  these  villainous  conspirators 
sit  in  the  dark  and  watch  their  prey  at  her  nightly  toilet 

from  their  window ;  D  gives  the  signal,  "  Douse  the 

glim  !"  and  immediately  the  candles  are  "dead  as  a  nail," 


THE  MODERN  SUSANNAH. 


187 


and  there  thej  crouch  opera  glass  in  hand,  peermg  like 
excited  elders  at  the  innocent  and  unconscious  Susannah. 

C  goes  to  bed  half  delirious,  and  wonders  how  such 

things  can  be  and  overcome  us  like  a  summer  cloud,  while 

T  sneaks  to  the  embrace  of  the  "Doctor's  daughter." 

Oh !  Man !  Man  !  what  an  unaccountable  creature  thou 
art !  One  seems  to  wrap  himself  up  in  the  stoicism  of 
Philosophy — another  in  the  self-denying  vestment  of  reli- 
gion— one  absorbs  all  passion  in  the  singleness  and  con- 
stancy of  his  only  love — another  sacrifices  all  to  his  dar- 
ling avarice — glory  consumes  the  hero — cards  the  gamester 
— yet  one  little  leg,  one  swelling  bosom,  one  toilet  seen 
through  the  twilight  of  a  maiden's  chamber — sweeps  Phi- 
losopher— Love — Priest — all  risk  the  general  whirlpool  of 
sense,  and  the  devil  laughs  at  the  impotence  of  his  poor 
victims. 


LEAF  XXVL 


IN  AND  ABOUT  FLORENCE. 

May  2. 

Q  and  myself  have  just  returned  from  an  excursion 

to  Lucca  and  Pisa,  after  having  enjoyed  in  the  full  the 
beauties  of  vetturino  travelling.  We  had  stipulated  for 
the  entire  carriage  to  ourselves,  though  we  were  not  at  all 
astonished  at  the  presence  of  another  inside  and  one  outside 
passenger,  perfectly  satisfied  if  things  would  get  no  worse 
in  the  course  of  the  journey.  We  passed  through  Pistoia 
and  Pescia,  and  reached  Lucca  time  enough  the  same  day 
to  finish  the  sights.    I  thought  our  guide  to  the  cathedral 


/ 

1G8  WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


at  Lucca  would  never  get  through  his  elaborate  eulogies 
upon  every  thing  it  contained,  and  I  was  glad  to  escape  at 
last  from  his  enthusiasm  to  the  quiet  promenade  on  the 
ramparts.  The  country  around  Lucca  is  one  of  the  most 
fertile  and  carefully  cultivated  I  have  yet  seen.  The 
roads  are  almost  straight  lines,  with  scarcely  three  feet 
of  rise  or  fall  for  miles  of  surface. — and  the  people  all 
have  the  satisfied  air  of  the  Florentines. 

We  left  Lucca  early  the  next  day,  and  singular  to  record 
had  the  carriage  to  ourselves.  By  10,  A.  M.,  we  were  at 
Pisa ;  here  our  vetturino  gave  us  miserable  quarters,  and 
left  us  with  the  promise  of  being  ready  at  5  o'clock  next 
morning  to  take  us  to  Florence.  Y\^e  spent  the  day  in 
lounging  about  the  Duomo,  and  trying  to  admire  the  fres- 
coes of  the  Oampo  Santo.    Q  succeeded  in  getting  up 

a  considerable  amount  of  inflatus,  though  not  without  some 
effort.  I  could  not  see  any  thing  very  pleiising  in  the  con- 
fused and  half-obliterated  figures  that  crowd  the  walls,  "and 
as  for  their  excellence  I  am  not  connoissieur  enough  to 
detect  it.  There  are  some  fine  pictures  in  the  cathedral, 
and  I  was  sorry  we  had  not  entered  it  at  an  earlier  hour, 
as  the  approach  of  evening  prevented  us  from  seeing  some 
of  them  very  distinctly.  We  lay  two  or  three  hours  on 
the  grass  looking  at  the  Leaning  Tower,  and  finally  mus- 
tered energy  enough  to  ascend  it.  If  a  blind  man  made 
the  ascent,  he  would  be  rather  puzzled  at  such  a  singular 
method  of  rising.  There  is  apparently  more  down  hill 
than  up,  and  when  one  rounds  the  leaning  side,  the  accel- 
eration of  pace  acquired  takes  away  all  the  effort  in  mount- 
ing the  rise.  To  look  down  from  above  did  not  strike  me 
as  such  a  fearful  sight,  for  the  parapet  prevents  one  from 
noticing  the  awful  inclination.  *It  looks  more  like  a  tower 
in  the  very  act  of  falling,  when  seen  from  below,  especially 
if  you  obstruct  your  view  of  the  uppermost  part  by  placinpr 


HEY,  PRESTO,  CHANGE! 


169 


your  hand  over  your  eyes.  It  is  truly  a  very  remarkable 
and  very  beautiful  architectural  monster,  whether  the 
result  of  accident  or  design  is  immaterial. 

At  5  o'clock  next  morning  we  were  ready  to  depart  for 
Florence,  in  the  hope  of  reaching  there  in  time  for  the 
table  d'hote.  Hour  after  hour  passed  away,  but  no  vettu- 
rino ; — at  last,  about  half  past  eight  o'clock,  a  miserable 
looking  equipage  drove  up  to  the  door  with  two  women 
inside,  and  a  host  of  band-boxes  on  the  top.  The  driver 
had  a  villainous  cock  of  the  eye,  and  it  was  perfectly  impos- 
sible to  catch  his  look.  He  announced  himself  as  the 
brother  of  the  party  who  had  conducted  us  thus  far,  and 
declared  his  fixed  intention  of  bringing  us  to  Florence  with 
the  aid  of  two  changes  of  horses,  in  time  for  dinner. 
Enraged  as  I  was  at  this  hocus  pocus  attempt  to  gammon 
us,  I  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  turn-out  before  me, 
and  the  unspeculative  look  of  the  villain's  eye.  The  ofi- 
horse  had  the  elephantis  in  both  legs ;  they  had  been 
scored  down  with  a  knife  like  dead  mutton  or  the  young 
bark  of  a  tree.  The  near  horse  had  let  down  in  the  left 
shoulder,  and  when  once  started,  had  to  keep  on  for  fear 
of  fallinp;  on  his  nose.  The  driver  was  screaminfj;  at  them 
all  the  time,  as  if  dreadfully  afraid  they  would  run  away. 
I  asked  him  how  far  the  efficiency  of  this  team  was  to  be 
tested.  He  tlirew  his  *' cock-eye"  upon  the  olT-horse  which 
seemed  the  favorite,  and  swore  by  the  sainted  Virgin  they 
should  be  changed  14  miles  out.  As  I  did  not  wish 
to  incommode  the  women,  who  were  not  the  handsomest  in 
the  world,  I  took  my  seat  by  his  side,  and  assisted  to  the 
best  of  my  ability  in  getting  our  chargers  fairly  started. 
After  going  sixteen  miles,  I  ventured  to  remind  strabismus 
of  his  promise.  He  smiled  spasmodically,  and  a  painful 
doubt  crossed  my  mind.  We  came  at  last  to  a  consider- 
able village.    Here^  he  descended — took  out  the  horses — 

15 


170 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


disappeared  with  them ;  and  after  some  fifteen  minntes' 
absence  returned,  leading  the  identical  animals  forward. 
I  tried  to  look  severe.  The  scoundrel  proceeded  with  all  the 
gravity  of  a  Turk,  to  change  the  position  of  the  horses, 
making  elephantis  this  time  the  near-horse,  and  having 
hitched  them,  took  his  seat,  and  flourished  his  wliip  with 
all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  new  movement.  There  was  no  use 
in  remonstrating,  and  I  contented  myself  with  enquiring 
if  the  next  change  was  of  a  similar  kind — for,  if  it  was,  we 
would  dispense  with  the  ceremony.  After  two  more  hours 
of  semi-locomotion,  he  got  a  bid  for  us  at  last,  and  we 
were  transferred  to  a  new  party,  with  a  somewhat  better 
equipage.  These  sales  upon  the  road  are  very  frequent  in 
vetturino  travelling,  and  without  a  strong  agreement  to  the 
contrary,  you  will  find  yourself  disposed  of  before  you  are 
aware  of  it.  We  did  not  succeed  in  reaching  Florence 
until  sunset.  The  road  was  very  dusty,  and  the  sooner 
they  provide  a  railroad  for  travellers  to  cross  it,  the  better 
for  the  peace  of  mind  of  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany.* 

May  3. 

Florence  is  a  very  paradise  for  loafers.  From  a  three 
hours*  toilet  in  the  morning  one  passes  to  Doney's,  and 
feeds  upon  eggs,  coffee,  and  delicious  bread  and  butter,  for 
which  one  paul  (about  ten  cents)  is  paid ;  then  a  stride 
through  the  Gallery  Imperiale  is  just  sufficiently  fatiguing 
to  make  one  enjoy  an  ice  or  a  lemonade  which  will  cost  half 
a  paul.  An  hour  may  be  consumed  w^ith  the  refreshing 
liquid,  and  in  a  luxuriant  revival  of  strength.  One  may 
then  drop  over  the  Arno — sink  into  a  cushioned  seat  of 
the  Pitti  Palace,  and  gaze  on  the  Madonna  de  Seggiola  of 

*  There  is  now  a  railroad,  and  a  very  excellent  one,  from  Leg- 
horn, via  Pisa,  direct  to  Florence,  and  thence  branching  to  Sienna. 
—Ed.  a.  C. 


THE  DEATH  SCENE  OF  CLEOPATRA! 


171 


Raphael — sweet  purification  of  the  wanton  Fornarina  ! 
Almost  by  her  side  is  the  Gitana-looking  Virgin  of  Murillo  ; 
— a  turn  of  .the  head,  and  the  lovely,  guileless,  glorious 
Judith  of  Allori  stands  like  some  female  Macbeth,  whose 
hand  is  soiled  with  murder,  but  whose  thoughts  are  noble 
and  whose  breast  still  harbors  the  milk  of  human  kindness 
— strange  contrast  between  the  cruel  clutch  of  her  fingers 
in  his  matted  hair,  and  the  soft,  womanly  beauty  of  her 
dark  eyes  and  full,  warm  lips.  The  next  room  will  pre- 
sent you  with  the  luscious  death-scene  of  Cleopatra,  and 
for  a  moment  you  will  cease  to  sneer  at  the  infatuation 
which  lost  a  world  to  bask  in  such  charms.  A  memory 
perhaps  will  come  over  you  of  younger  days,  when  the 
anxious,  politic,  intriguant  life  of  Augustus  seemed  to 
your  fancy  but  a  miserable  destiny  compared  to  that  of 
the  passionate  worshipper  and  victim  of  Egypt's  queen ; 
but  this  weakness  will  vanish  as  your  eye  falls  upon  the 
"Sister  Fates"  of  Angelo,  and  the  gloomy  "  Conspirators" 
of  Salvator  Rosa.  They  call  you  back  to  a  life  of  action, 
a  thirst  for  power  ;  the  inexorable  calmness,  the  cold  in- 
humanity which  frames  our  destiny  without  a  sigh,  sits 
upon  every  feature  of  those  withered  women,  and  inspires 
one  with  a  sort  of  defiance  to  live  on  and  endure  in  spite 
of  fate,  while  the  dark  energy  of  the  arch  conspirator 
Cataline  looks  proud  disdain  upon  the  weakness  that  dare 
not  aspire  to  be  great  even  in  crime  itself.  When  your 
eye  grows  weary  of  the  canvas,  pass  through  these  price- 
less halls  of  painted  treasure  and  feast  awhile  upon  the 
Venus  of  Canova — the  marble  sister  of  Napoleon — you 
will  find  her  somewhat  thin  and  a  trifle  too  bashful,  but 
still  attractive ;  then  call  at  the  studio  of  Power,  where 
Eve  and  the  Grecian  captive  will  charm  you  till  dinner. 
They  rank  very  properly  among  the  finest  pieces  of  modern 
sculpture ;  without  having  that  classical  severity  of  the 


172 


WILD    OATS,  SOWX  ABKOAD. 


ancient  Ideal,  they  have  all  their  beauty  and  just  enough 
of  earth  to  keep  them  out  of  heaven.  Eve  is  a  real  wo- 
man, and  quite  persuaded  nie  that  nature  can  compete 
successfully  with  the  unrealized  idea  of  the  old  sculptor. 
The  Grecian  captive  is  a  sweet  creation,  and,  when  finished 
America  may  attach  her  label  to  the  best  sculptor  in  the 
world.    Truly  we  are  a  great  people. 

After  dinner,  which  will  cost  five  pauls,  a  drive  on  the 
Cascine  can  be  introduced  with  propriety,  as  the  Floren- 
tine fashionables  have  agreed  to  do  the  same.  One  may 
thus  consume  an  hour  upon  the  meadows,  coquetting  with 
whatever  may  cross  your  path,  from  a  ducal  hare  or  phea- 
sant to  a  duchess  ;  but  it  is  best  to  avoid  any  thing  walking 
with  a  child  or  speaking  the  English  tongue ;  the  one  will 
generally  be  a  craft  suspect,  or  "  long,  low,  black  schooner" 
— the  other  a  bore.  By  this  time  the  sun  sets  and  the 
theatre  opens.  The  age  of  poetry  commences,  and  one 
sinks  into  bed  with  the  notes  of  "II  Bravo"  or  "  Torquato 
Tasso,"  murmuring  in  one's  ears — or  perhaps  a  more  tan- 
gible luxury  exists  in  yonder  slumber.  So  fades  day  after 
day,  like  Banquo's  issue — one  fatal  resemblance  stamped 
on  all,  until  the  ennuied  soul  cries  out — "I'll  see  no 
more  !" 

Sweet  Florence !  How  unlike  that  once  turbulent  city 
•whose  fierce  factions  stained  thy  ducal  threshold  with  fra- 
tricide, and  blurred  the  finest  pages  of  thy  history  with 
ingratitude  !  In  the  peaceful  loungers  of  the  Boboli  Gar- 
dens who  could  recoo-nize  the  descendants  of  that  restless 
democracy,  whose  law  was  vengeance,  w^hose  liberty  was 
license  ?  or  who,  in  regarding  the  enlightened  policy  which 
marks  the  present  rule  of  Tuscany,  could  dream  that  the 
idiotic  sway  of  the  bastard  Medici  w\^s  once  observed  and 
respected  ?  Nothing  is  left  of  former  despotism  here  but 
the  evidence  of  its  refined  luxury.    The  vices  and  the  law 


A  EULOGY  ON  TUSCANY. 


17S 


lessness  which  made  it  despicable  are  forgotten,  and  the 
stranger's  eye  can  feast  upon  its  magnificence  without  be- 
ing shocked  at  the  abuses  of  government,  or  the  degrada- 
tion of  the  people.  Tuscany  presents  the  only  specimen  I 
have  yet  seen  in  Italy,  of  a  good  administration  of  affairs 
and  a  contented  people.  The  soldiers  are  few  and  civil. 
The  court  is  economical,  yet  gay ;  aristocratic,  yet  acces- 
sible. The  galleries  and  public  places  are  thrown  open  at 
all  times  free  of  expense,  free  of  annoyance.  The  liberty 
of  the  press  can  scarcely  be  called  restricted,  and  theatri- 
cal representations  have  unbounded  license.  There  is  an 
abundance — a  cheapness — a  goodness  of  almost  every 
thing.  This  proves  the  absence  of  exorbitant  taxation, 
and  might  be  inducement  enough  to  detain  the  stranger, 
even  if  Florence  had  not  those  advantages  of  beauty  and 
art  which  she  so  eminently  possesses.-  What  an  eulogium 
from  a  republican.  Well !  I  should  like  to  snatch  a  little 
literary  leisure  here :  but  then  travellers  cannot  read ; 
always  excepting  Galignani's  Newspaper  and  the  Guide- 
Book.  They  are  the  traveller's  oracle,  his  authority,  his 
thermometer.  He  reads  them  with  the  same  care  an  old 
woman  does  the  almanac,  and  regards  their  theories  and 
calculations  with  the  same  degree  of  reverence. 


15* 


174 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


LEAF  XXVII. 

BOLOGNA. 

May  14. 

We  left  Florence  with  the  same  vetturino  who  had 

brought  us  from  Rome.    In  the  place  of  D  n  and 

I  ,  we  had  T          and  D  r.    Q          and  myself 

occupied,  as  usual,  the  front  seat. 

The  road  between  Florence  and  Bologna  is  nothing  but 
a  succession  of  hills,  and  affords  little  to  interegjt  the  tra- 
veller. Being  anxious  to  reach  Bologna  early  the  next 
day,  we  proceeded  rather  farther  than  the  customary  day's 
journey,  and  were  rewarded  for  our  haste  by  miserable 
quarters  for  the  night.  The  dinner,  too,  was  execrable. 
This  generally  is  one  of  the  first  efiects  on  entering  the 

dominions  of  his  Holiness.     T          and  D  r  were 

somewhat  shocked  at  their  first  essay  in  this  species  of 
locomotion,  and  they  were  unanimous  in  declaring  it  to  be 
their  last  use  of  the  vetturino  mode. 

It  was  almost  night  when  we  reached  our  stopping  place  ; 
but  then  we  had  the  pleasure  of  watching  a  real  Claude 
sunset,  from  its  first  glow  to  its  death-shroud.  It  was  a 
pure  Italian  sunset,  with  all  its  characteristics — its  harmony 
— its  grandeur — its  loveliness.  We  were  among  the  Appe- 
nines,  and  the  eye  strayed  over  the  vine  and  the  olive. 
There  were  the  dark  blue  hills  and  the  deep  blue  sky ;  and 
the  last  gleam  of  its  setting  smile  was  playing  upon  the 
white  walls  of  Filigare.  There  were  peasant  girls  with 
their  roguery,  and  beggars  with  their  piteous  supplication. 


A  REAL  CLAUDE  SUNSET. 


175 


From  each  valley  came  the  solemn  peal  of  vesper,  and  the 
roadside  had  its  chapels  and  images  of  the  Madonna.  The 
purple  and  gold  of  the  "dying  dolphin"  lay  soft  and  lan- 
guid upon  the  hazy  heights,  and  the  soul  of  man,  as  he 
gazed  upon  this  glory  of  Italy,  involuntarily  exclaimed, 

How  beautiful !"  I  have  seen  many  rich  and  varied 
sunsets  at  home,  on  our  lakes  and  among  our  mountains ; 
they  are  much  more  brilliant,  and  have  a  bolder,  more 
confused,  unsettled,  and  varied  coloring — but  they  want 
that  soft,  misty  veil  which  gives  to  the  Italian  sunset  its 
depth,  its  languor,  its  repose — they  want  the  enervating 
climate,  and  that  poetry  of  art  which  breathes  from  all 
man's  works  when  hallowed  by  time ;  and,  above  all,  they 
want  that  state  of  feeling  which  travel  in  Italy  generates, 
and  which  in  fact  is  half  the  enjoyment  of  the  boasted 
Italian  sunset.  There  is  a  landscape  in  the  Pitti  Palace 
by  Claude  Lorraine,  where  he  seems  to  have  snatched 
Heaven's  own  dyes  in  their  sweetest  hour.  Whoever  has 
looked  at  that  picture,  has  seen  the  successful  rival  of 
nature.  But  what  is  a  sunset  either  here  or  at  home  if  its 
mellow  light  be  not  reflected  from  our  lady's  eyes  ?  Asso- 
ciation is  the  beautifier  of  Heaven's  drapery.  Without 
that,  its  most  gorgeous  glory  is  but  tinsel. 

Bologna  is  full  of  Austrian  soldiers.  A  revolutionary 
spirit  has  been  discovered  among  the  Papal  troops,  and 
they  have  just  finisheTi  shooting  some  six  or  seven  officers 
in  the  market-place.  We  were  not  in  time  to  witness  the 
execution.  There  are  rumors  of  another  batch  to  follow 
shortly.  Curse  this  foreign  interference  !  Were  it  not  for 
Austria,  the  Papal  rule  would  soon  be  extinct  in  Bologna. 
They  always  were  a  restless  sort  of  characters.  Bologna 
was  once  famous  for  its  picture  galleries ;  but  few  now 
remain.  The  Academy  di  Belli  Arte  has  some  magnificent 
paintings.    We  spent  nearly  the  whole  day  looking  at 


176 


TTILD    OATS,  SOWX  ABROAD. 


them.  The  St.  Cecelia  of  Raphael,  the  St.  Jerome  of 
Caracci,  and  the  Massacre  of  the  Innocents  by  Guido,  are 
well  worth  a  ride  from  Florence,  even  to  an  indifferent 

admirer  of  the  fine  arts.    D  is  flirting  out  the  window 

with  a  little  French  woman.    I  must  go  and  help  him. 

May  15. 

"Went  to  the  Bacchiorchi  Palace.  The  family  not  bemg 
at  home,  we  were  led  through  the  whole  range  of  private 
apartments — billiard  room,  dining  room,  sitting  room,  con- 
cert room,  sleeping  apartments ;  and,  at  the  end,  a  noble 
hall,  containing  statues,  busts  and  portraits  of  the  whole 
Napoleon  family — the  sculpture  by  Canova ;  the  painting 
by  David.  Madame  Mere  looked  majesty  itself.  Pauline, 
though  rather  Frenchified  in  attitude,  has  a  winning  face ; 
and  Caroline  Murat  has  all  that  energy  of  character  about 
the  lines  of  the  mouth  which  she  displayed  in  the  government 
of  a  kingdom ;  but  still  the  brow  and  eyes  of  Josephine,  in 
the  midst  of  this  imperial  beauty,  bears  away  the  palm. 
Nature's  queen  stands  avenged,  and  the  Hapsburg  bride 
had  better  decline  the  honor  of  such  a  close  companionship 
with  the  dethroned  rival.  It  is  a  highly  interesting  collec- 
tion.   Q          took  a  tremendous  walk  in  the  hot  sun  to 

some  convent  or  Campo  Santo  in  the  neighborhood,  to  look 
at  some  paintings  by  St.  Luke.  I  have  seen  several  of 
this  apostle's  efforts  in  the  fine  arts,  and,  considering  the 
age  in  which  he  lived  and  his  former  calling,  they  are 
quite  creditable  affairs.  One  would  suppose  that  a  fisher- 
man would  have  made  choice  of  water  colors ;  but  he  must 
have  had  an  eye  to  posterity  in  his  selection  of  oil.  How 
supremely  absurd  to  make  a  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  out  of 
St.  Luke  !  Wonder  if  the  Council  of  Trent  passed  their 
opinion  upon  these  inspired  works  ?  There  is  neither 
reason  nor  necessity  in  such  imposture. 


TASSO  AND  BYRON. 


177 


To-morrow  we  start  for  Venice,  with  a  new  vetturino. 
Our  old  one  began  to  play  the  scamp,  too,  and  attempted 
to  charge  us  an  infamous  price,  on  the  supposition  that  we 
were  partial  to  him,  and  would  be  too  lazy  to  look  up 
another;  but  we  ''whisked  him  off"  in  a  torrent  of  indig- 
nation, and  came  to  the  philosophical  conclusion  that 
honesty  is  a  mere  comparative,  and  forthwith  selected  the 
most  villainous-looking  applicant  from  the  crowd  to  tor- 
ture us  to  Venice.  We  shall  doubtless  have  some  rare 
sport  on  the  route,  and  a  repetition  of  the  game  played 
between  Pisa  and  Florence.  I  shall  be  satisfied  if  it  prove 
no  worse.  Thank  Heaven  !  it  is  only  two  days'  duration, 
and  one  could  endure  almost  any  thing  that  long,  except 
pleasure. 


FERRARA. 

May  16. 

Thus  far  we  have  done  tolerably  well.  Our  nags  would 
scarcely  serve  as  coursers  to  the  sun,  but  still  they  brought 
us  quite  gallantly  in  the  wake  of  the  Crown  Prince  of 
"VVurtemburg,  up  to  the  very  gates  of  Ferrara. 

Our  first  sally  was  to  Tasso's  Prison.  I  don't  say  that 
Tasso  did  not  inhabit  that  cellar — it  is  neither  impossible 
nor  dreadful ;  yet  I  allow  myself  just  sufiicient  skepticism 
to  destroy  the  charm.  Byron's  name  is  written  too  well 
for  such  a  miserable  chirographer  as  he  was.  It  don't 
look  natural.  Indeed,  the  whole  affair  is  rather  too  well 
"got  up"  for  an  antique  fact.  'Tis  pity,  and  pity  'tis,  'tis 
so.  The  castle  is  superb — the  very  beau  ideal  of  a  tyran- 
nizing, treacherous,  gloomy  stronghold ;  just  such  as  the 
"serpent  broods"  of  Este  might  hatch  in,  and  where  Pari- 
sina  might  be  immured. 

One  is  scarcely  able  to  believe  that  here  once  reigned 
M 


178 


WILD  OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


the  most  polished  Court  in  Europe  ;  that  these  empty 
palaces — these  "  wide  and  grassgrown"  streets  -vvere  once 
filled  with  thronging  thousands.  Silence  and  solitude  are 
every  where.  If  only  ruin  and  desolation  accompanied 
them,  there  would  be  some  harmony  in  the  scene,  and  Fer- 
rara  would  seem  but  another  Pompeii,  or  some  deserted 
city  of  the  desert ;  but  here  are  miles  of  noble  edifices, 
which  time  has  vainly  touched ;  broad  and  level  streets, 
which  have  not  their  parallel  in  Italy,  and  fine  open 
squares,  all  untenanted — scarcely  a  human  being  to  be 
seen — no  life,  no  noise ;  not  the  slightest  evidence  of  trade 
nor  sign  of  activity.  You  pass  at  once  from  a  narrow 
circle  of  existence,  yet  throbbing  in  the  centre  to  almost 
perfect  depopulation  in  the  outspread  extremities.  It  is 
melancholy  to  walk  these  vacant  streets,  with  nothing  but 
your  own  shadow  to  mock  you  with  companionship.  Even 
the  plague  would  have  very  little  sport  here  ;  and  it  would 
require  but  a  small  amount  of  fancy  to  imagine  oneself  the 
*'last  man"  in  the  universe.  God  save  me  from  a  solitude 
in  such  excellent  preservation  as  Ferrara  ! 


LEAF  XXVIII. 

PADUA. 

Padua,  May  17. 
As  was  anticipated,  our  horses  broke  down  some  few 
hours'  ride  from  Rovigo.  It  was  a  mournful  spectacle. 
The  road  as  level  as  a  floor,  and  they  unable  to  trot  along. 
We  joked  despairingly  upon  our  prospects.  The  steeples 
of  Piovigo  were  visible  in  the  distance — but  distance  lent 


THE  "  SHOCKING  TEAM  !" 


179 


no  enchantment  to  the  view,  for  our  breakfast  was  there 

also.    D          and  myself  took  to  walking,  in  the  vain 

hope  of  assuaging  our  hunger.  We  met  a  Savoyard  with 
his  monkey  and  organ.  We  set  him  to  playing  in  front 
of  the  horses,  fondly  hoping  he  might  be  some  Orpheus  in 
disguise — but  it  was  "no  go  ;"  they  did  not  even  prick  their 
ears  at  the  moving  melody,  but  walked  slowly  on  like  the 
first  "drops  of  a  thunder-shower,"  or  the  lazy  stretch  of  a 
sick  frog.  We  paid  the  organ-boy  for  the  attempt,  and 
discharged  him.  Even  the  monkey  commiserated  our  situ- 
ation— he  looked  back  with  the  air  of  a  jockey  ;  raised  his 
eye-brows  to  the  very  top  of  his  head,  and  with  a  slight 
degree  of  emotion,  declared  as  plainly  as  look  could  de- 
clare :  "  Shocking  team  !" 

We  laughed  at  the  rascal's  penetration,  for  there  was  no 
use  in  sighing.  We  had  done  all  that  man,  monkey,  and 
music  could  do,  and  resigned  ourselves  to  destiny.  We 
were  two  hours  in  going  five  miles.  At  Rovigo,  we  got  a 
good  breakfast  and  fresh  horses ;  they  brought  us  to  Padua 
by  five  o'clock.  We  shall  take  the  rail  road  to-morrow 
for  Venice.  We  have  just  finished  one  of  the  best  dinners 
I  have  eaten  in  Italy :  and  I  feel  more  like  going  to  sleep 

than  consulting  the  inkstand.    D  has  already  turned 

in,  and  seems  to  have  groaned  himself  to  oblivion  over  the 
idea  of  rising  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning.  It  is  dread- 
ful— but  then  visions  of  gondolas  lure  us  on,  and  we  must 
glide  with  the  morning  sun  through  the  watery  streets  of 
Venice.  I  remember  one  night  reading  the  two  Foscari : 
it  was  my  first  collegiate  year,  and  the  prospect  of  visiting 
Europe  was  uncertain,  at  least  far  distant.  When  I  came 
to  that  scene  where  Foscari  dwells  upon  the  magnificence 
of  her  palaces — the  luxury  of  her  festivals — the  mysterious 
power  of  her  rulers — in  language  which  only  Byron's 
genius  could  mould — I  rose  involuntarily,  and  walking  to 


180 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


the  open  window,  half-muttered  to  myself — Ye  gods  ! 
shall  I  never  see  Venice  ?"  The  ring  of  the  chapel  bells 
for  prayer  answered  me  sharply — "  Not  soon — not  soon ! 
you  pitiful  under-graduate !" 

Seven  years  have  passed  away,  and  yonder,  almost 
within  my  grasp,  sleeps  the  "  Ocean  City  ;"  it  seems  but 
yesternight  that  I  asked  the  question,  though  many  queries 
have  found  their  answer  and  fulfilment — yes,  their  grave — 
between  that  hour  and  this  !  Strange  that  it  should  come 
back  upon  me  with  such  freshness  !  But  I  am  growing 
metaphysical,  or  I  suspect,  sleepy.  Perhaps  I  am  dream- 
ing now,  and  may  walk  out  of  the  window.  I  will  go  and 
shut  it  for  precaution  sake.    It  would  be  Avell  too,  to  give 

D          a  shake  and  get  his  opinion.    Poor  fellow  [  he 

would  think  it  was  already  time  to  get  up,  and  would  beg 
for  a  little  lono;er  indulgence.  He  is  no  doubt  dreaming 
of  the  "Bridge  of  Sighs."  Shade  of  Radclilfe !  hover 
over  his  pillow !  He  ate  dinner  enough  to  evoke  a  thou- 
sand demons  to  strangle  him. 


Venice,  Mat  20. 
I  frequently  ask  myself  whether  I  am  really  in  Venice  ! 
I  go  to  the  balustrade  of  my  window,  and  look  down  the 
grand  canal,  and  sure  enough  the  gondolas  are  gliding 
about,  and  some  picture  of  Canalletti  seems  floating  before 
my  eyes.  Every  one  has  had  his  dream  of  Venice. 
Poetry  and  prose  have  been  exhausted  in  ambitious  at- 
tempts to  describe  its  peculiar  appearance — and  expres- 
sions, such  as  genius  in  its  most  glorious  moods  can  only 
coin,  have  been  lavished  upon  this  petted  darling  of  the 
imagination.  It  has  every  charm  which  grandeur,  mystery 
— long-indulged  power  and  story  can  confer  upon  it ;  and 
it  is  with  no  common  interest  we  approach  its  presence  to 
find  one  ideal  in  its  reality.    Perhaps  it  is  the  only  city 


FLOATINGS  IN  VENICE. 


181 


whose  appearance  does  not  disappoint  one's  expectations, 
and  however  extravagant  one's  boyish  fancy  may  have 
fashioned  it,  still  there  will  be  some  resemblance  to  one's 
visions,  in  its  strange,  original,  and  wondrous  Aspect. 
Our  boat  was  crowded,  and  we  could  get  but  an  indifferent 
view  of  the  "  Ocean  City,"  as  we  crossed  the  Lagoon. 
The  heat  of  the  sun,  and  the  motion  of  the  rowers,  pre- 
vented our  standing  outside  of  the  pavilion,  and  we  had 
to  content  ourselves  with  occasional  glimpses  of  its  "  Tiara 
Towers." 

After  about  an  hour's  row  we  were  landed  at  a  sort  of 
Custom  House.  Here  our  baggage  was  examined,  and 
our  passports  secured.  We  were  then  allowed  to  proceed 
upon  our  way  as  best  we  could.  Some  gondoliers  soon 
seized  upon  us,  and  we  found  ourselves  passing  noise- 
lessly along  the  watery  street.  AYe  had  now  an  opportu- 
nity to  observe  things.  The  canal  at  this  place  had  side- 
walks, and  presented  quite  a  bustling  appearance.  We 
passed  several  fine  churches,  and  as  yet  there  was  no 
appearance  of  that  dilapidation  we  expected  to  find.  One 
of  the  gondoliers  pointed  out  the  Manfrini  Palace  to  us, 
but  we  had  scarcely  time  to  note  it  before  we  turned  into 
the  grand  canal.  We  were  not  two  hundred  yards  from 
the  Rialto — the  gondola  dashed  across  without  giving 
us  a  chance  to  see  the  magnificent  structures  that  lined  its 
banks  ;  and  we  entered  a  narrow  way,  in  order,  by  a  short 
cut,  to  strike  the  grand  canal  on  the  opposite  side  where 
our  hotel  was  situated.  Here  decay  began  to  show  itself. 
We  passed  many  splendid  palaces,  with  the  sea-weed  hang- 
ing in  masses  from  their  slimy  steps ;  the  windows  were 
all  broken,  and  the  casements  and  doors  boarded  over  in 
the  roughest  manner — presenting  a  melancholy  spectacle 
of  social  desolation.  They  looked  doubly  cheerless  from 
the  presence  of  the  bright  noon-day  sun  playing  upon  their 

16 


182 


WILD  OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


marble  fronts,  and  not  one  answering  raj  of  life  camr* 
from  those  once  brilliant  homes. 

We  landed  at  the  Hotel  Europa,  and  after  obtaining 
rooms,  sallied  forth  to  the  Piazza  San  Marco.  The  place 
was  thronged  with  people,  and  in  front  of  the  Ducal 
Palace  stood  a  scaffold  surrounded  by  soldiers.  Could  it 
be  possible  that  an  execution  was  to  take  place  ?  We 
were  not  kept  long  in  suspense — two  guards  approached, 
leading  the  culprit  between  them  with  his  hands  pinioned 
behind,  and  his  head  bare.  He  was  placed  upon  the  scaf- 
fold facing  the  palace,  he  did  not  appear  more  than  nine- 
teen years  of  age ;  remarkably  fine  featured,  but  pale  as 
death.  I  thought  of  the  "Lion's  Mouth,"  and  the  accursed 
oligarchy  of  Venice — of  the  Ducal  Palace  by  my  side, 
the  sepulchre  of  dark  deeds — and  it  required  but  the  pale 
victim  before  me  to  carry  me  back  to  that  age  of  terror 
when  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  was  the  passage  to  the  tomb. 
To  what  height  this  train  of  thought  might  have  "piled 
the  agony."  I  know  not,  for  it  was  cut  short  by  the 
appearance  of  some  judicial  functionary  upon  the  balcony 
of  the  Ducal  Palace,  who,  taking  his  stand  between  two 
particular  pillars,  proceeded  to  sentence  the  object  of  all 
this  interest  to  ten  years'  imprisonment  for  sundry  crimes 
too  numerous  to  mention.  The  sympathetic  populace 
hissed — the  judge  disappeared,  and  the  criminal  was  led 
off  in  a  twinkling.  I  felt  disappointed — I  had  already  de- 
termined that  the  Lion  of  St.  Mark  should  greet  me  with 
something  mysteriously  shocking,  and  to  be  thus  baulked 
in  the  very  moment  of  what  I  thought  its  consummation — 
was  extremely  tantalizing. 

We  returned  to  the  hotel,  and  quizzed  T  with  an 

account  of  the  terrible  execution  we  had  just  witnessed, 
and  declared  the  party  to  have  been  a  political  offender, 
over  whose  death  Austria  forbid  the  slightest  expression 


THE  VENETIAN  GIRLS ! 


183 


of  sympathy.  Whenever  we  approached  any  mention  of 
the  circumstances,  we  lowered  our  voices  to  a  whisper,  and 

kept  T          in  a  perfect  stew  during  the  greater  part  of 

our  stay,  through  his  reverence  for  the  Austrian  police. 
It  was  some  time  before  he  discovered  the  joke,  from  the 
fact  of  his  being  afraid  to  ask  any  body  else  about  it.  There 
is  no  difficulty  in  walking  to  almost  any  part  of  Venice,  if 
one  is  acquainted  with  the  many  bridges  which  cross  its  dif- 
ferent canals;  the  people,  too,  are  very  civil,  and  when 
they  see  a  stranger  turning  into  a  corte  which  does  not 
lead  to  a  bridge,  they  immediately  cry  out,  "  non  pas- 
sata  !"  and  soon  give  him  the  clue  to  the  labyrinth.  They 
are  decidedly  the  gayest  devils  in  Italy.  It  only  needs  one 
turn  through  the  colonnades  of  the  Piazza  San  Marco  to 
establish  that  fact.  This  piazza  is  the  largest  dry  space  in 
Venice,  and  here  the  whole  town  congregates  towards  eve- 
ning to  hear  the  music,  and  take  their  colfee  or  ice  pre- 
vious to  going  to  the  opera — and  a  more  brilliant  prome- 
nade is  not  to  be  met  with  in  Europe.  The  Venetian  wo- 
men have  a  more  dashy  style  and  a  more  wicked  sparkle 
of  the  eye  than  the  Florentines — they  do  not  wait  to  re- 
ceive a  challenge,  but  their  dark  lustrous  eyes  say  "  qui 
vive"  the  moment  you  meet  their  gaze,  and  he  must  be  of 
strange  mould,  indeed,  who  would  not  bide  the  encounter. 
But  these  are  not  the  women  Titian  has  immortalized  upon 
canvas — they  are  quite  a  different-looking  race,  and  one 
would  seek  in  vain  for  the  golden  locks  and  softened  fea- 
tures of  his  "Bella  Donna."  They  are  dark,  imperious, 
and  saucily-bewitching — with  licentiousness  in  their  gait, 
and  a  dreamy  lolling  voluptuousness  in  their  repose,  which 
makes  them  exceedingly  attractible.  The  warm  gaze  of  a 
Venetian  girl,  when  unobserved  by  her  guardians  is  pas- 
sion's essence,  and  the  pages  of  romance  could  scarcely 
exaggerate  the  deeds  she  dare  commit  in  her  love's 
madness. 


184 


WILD   OATS,  SOW  ABROAD. 


LEAF  XXI2. 

Venice,  May  22. 
We  have  changed  our  quarters,  and  got  into  quite  an 
interesting  neighborhood.  Three  chambers  and  a  parlor, 
with  the  privilege  of  doing  as  we  please.  Our  landlady  is 
handsome,  but  far  gone  in  that  condition  which  ladies 
"like  to  be  who  love  their  lords."  The  opposite  windows 
present  attractions  of  a  high  order,  and  have  the  con- 
venience of  being  accessible  to  a  daring  leaper — we  can 

almost  shake  hands  across.    T          has  already  opened 

communications  with  a  little  signora  of  sixteen,  and  I  am 
preparing  my  battery  against  a  superb  looking  modiste. 
She  sits  all  day  at  the  window,  pretending  to  work,  but  she 
uses  her  eyes  with  more  execution  than  her  needle.  There 
is  every  prospect  of  a  desperate  war.  In  the  second 
story  is  a  very  suspicious  looking  craft,  who  neglects  occa- 
sionally to  draw  the  curtain  at  night,  and  thus  affords 
T   and  D  another  delectable  opportunity  of  in- 
dulging in  their  optical  operations  and  dissolving  views. 
I  often  hear  their  ecstatic  whispers  as  I  return  from  the 
opera,  and  am  conjured  by  all  I  hold  dear  to  go  to  bed  in 
the  dark,  lest  my  light  might  give  the  alarm.  The  bravo 
as  he  lurks  behind  some  pillar  waiting  for  his  victim 
draws  not  his  breath  more  softly  than  these  two  ambushed 
admirers  of  nature.  "Peeping  Tom  of  Coventry"  was  not 
to  be  compared  to  them — well,  it  is  but  another  form  of  the 
picturesque,  and  the  great  maxim  of  travelling  seems  to  be, 
to  see  all  you  can.  We  are  only  a  few  steps  from  the  Piazza 
San  Marco,  and  quite  convenient  to  the  Opera  House.  Our 


THE  BELL-CROWNED  HAT. 


185 


breakfjist  we  discuss  at  Florian's,  with  the  particular  atten- 
dance of  the  melancholy  gargon  of  that  establishment — 
and  our  dinner  "  chez  Marseilles,"  where  we  get  miserable 
liquids,  but  excellent  fish.  Our  gondolier  is  a  short,  thick- 
set rascal,  who  admires  the  women  vastly,  but  knows 
nothing  of  "  Tasso's  echoes"  or  the  melodious  accomplish- 
ments of  his  republican  predecessors.  He  is  discreet  with- 
al, and  has  a  great  outward  regard  for  the  police.  Our 
principal  and  most  honored  acquaintance  in  Venice  is  a 
smuggler  of  cigars,  who  may  be  met,  daily  sauntering 
along  under  the  colonnade  by  Florian's.  He  is  a  very 
equivocal  sort  of  character,  and  might  be  the  ruin  of  any 
ordinary  man's  reputation.  The  most  striking  part  of  this 
personage  is  his  hat,  an  enormous,  old-fashioned  bell-crown, 
placed  very  sedately  upon  the  very  top  of  his  head.  The 
hat,  regarded  merely  as  a  hat,  would  attract  attention  ; 
but  when  full  of  cigars,  and  balanced  with  exquisite  nicety 
by  the  wearer,  it  becomes  an  object  of  intense  interest, 
and  many  a  sporting  character  would  exultingly  hazard 
two  to  one  that  it  could  not  maintain  its  position  five 
minutes.  Yet,  in  spite  of  this  apparent  danger  of  a  spill, 
its  occupant  will  walk  under  the  very  nose  of  the  sentinel 
on  duty  in  the  piazza,  and  approach  a  stranger  in  the 
most  seductive  form,  with  a  real  Havanna  in  his  mouth, 
the  ashes  of  which  he  allows  to  linger  with  great  care 
upon  its  terminus,  so  as  to  attract  the  smoker  by  the 
beauty  of  its  color  and  the  strength  of  its  tenacity.  He 
will  then  manage  to  throw  each  pufi"  of  smoke  into  the 
individual's  face,  and  thus  add  flavor  to  his  already 
charmed  vision.  The  effect  of  this  combination  is  irresis- 
tible, particularly  to  a  poor  devil  who  has  been  wasting 
breath  and  life  out  upon  the  "  segar  mechanique,"  "the 

snipe's  bill,"  as  D  calls  them.    Our  smuggler  to  cap 

the  climax,   immediately  removes   the   precious   "  bell- 

16* 


186 


TTILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


crown,"  presents  his  array  of  exotics,  and  underbids  the 
government  with  the  stoicism  of  a  patriot  or  the  sublimity 
of  a  philanthropist  whose  heart  bleeds  at  the  sufferings 
of  his  kind.  His  manner  is  grand — it  is  not  the  syco- 
phantic crouch  of  the  Jew  bartering  for  money — nor  the 
sneaking  stealth  of  conscious  guilt  disposing  of  its  crimi- 
nal ware — but  it  is  the  Roman  come  to  sell  his  jewels 
for  his  country,  and  as  he  sees  one  after  another  absorbed 
by  the  barbaric  stranger,  he  smiles  in  self-gratulation,  as 
though  he  were  the  inventor  of  a  new  pleasure,  for  which 
kings  in  vain  had  offered  millions.  He  is  an  indefatigable 
promenader.  Our  coffee  is  scarcely  sipped  in  the  morning 
before  the  "  bell-crown"  is  seen  moving  among  the  pillars 
of  the  colonnade — and  the  evening  music  as  it  floats 
over  the  piazza,  finds  him  gliding  about  like  a  ministering 
angel.  I  have  read  of  Otranto's  casque,  with  its  dark 
plumage — I  have  seen  the  helmet  of  Bayard — and  gazed 
in  silent  wonder  upon  many  a  rusty  morion,  dug  from  the 
grave  of  centuries — but  that  bell-crown"  has  a  mysteri- 
ous, indescribable,  strange  and  original  physiognomic,  and 
it  would  be  idle  to  deny  its  entrancing  power.  The  cha- 
peau  of  Napoleon  has  had  its  day — so  had  the  boot  of 
^larlborough — and  may  not  the  smuggler's  hat  have  that 
innate  germ  of  greatness  which  sooner  or  later  ripens  to 
maturity  ? 

T          and  Q  have  taken  rooms  near  the  Grand 

Canal,  and  seem  very  busy  in  exploring  the  wonders  of 
Venice.    The  daughter  of  their  washwoman  having  first 

made  overtures  to  T  to  become  his  mistress,  and  being 

refused  made  free  with  sundry  Napoleons  left  negligently 
loitering  upon  his  table.  Byron  says,  "  Hell  has  no  Fury 
like  a  woman  scorned," — a  virtuous  man  must  expect  to 
be  robbed  either  of  his  virtue  or  his  money  when  he  takes 
up  his  abode  among  these  ocean  sirens.    To  deny  an  out- 


THE  "  lion's  mouth  !" 


187 


let  to  the  little  extravagances  of  a  washwoman's  daughter 
was  cruel,  and  we  have  no  sympathy  for  Napoleons  water- 
loo'd  in  such  fashion.  The  peculiar  construction  of  Vene- 
tian society  requires  an  occasional  sacrifice  of  one's  dearest 
principles,  and  though  the  moralist  shrink  at  the  idea  of 
being  seduced,  the  sage  and  philosopher  yields  with  a 
grace  to  the  pressure- of  circumstances — and  cease  to  be 
the  slaves  of  an  atmospheric  abstraction ;  still  to  be  can- 
did, the  desires  of  a  washwoman's  daughter  have  no  legi- 
timate right  to  aspire  to  a  moralist's  person  much  less  to 
his  Napoleons  ;  and  had  she  contented  herself  with  silver 
it  would  have  been  quite  a  justifiable  proceeding,  but  she 
is  evidently  above  her  calling,  poor  girl !  How  different 
would  have  been  her  fate  had  destiny  made  her  the  daugh- 
ter of  our  washerwoman  ! — verily,  narrow  are  the  bounda- 
ries between  failure  and  success. 

May  23. 

"We  "  done  up"  the  Ducal  Palace  to-day,  from  the  Giant's 
Staircase  to  the  Piombi.  It  was  a  warm,  but  interesting 
work.  Whether  the  head  of  old  Marino  Faliero  rolled 
down  these  same  marble  steps,  is  of  no  moment — we  looked 
at  them  with  the  same  interest  as  if  they  were  witnesses 
of  the  deed.  The  present  "Lion's  Mouth" — for  I  believe 
the  original  was  walled  up — is  situated  on  the  first  gallery, 
near  the  stairway,  and  has  a  very  "knowing  look."  We 
ascended  several  flight  of  stairs,  and  were  first  shown  into 
a  sort  of  inquisitorial  chamber,  where  state  prisoners  were 
examined,  and,  doubtless,  tortured ;  there  was  also  a 
"Lion's  Mouth"  here — and  a  screen-work,  shaped  some- 
what like  a  confessional  box,  from  the  interior  of  which 
the  examiner  could  ask  his  questions  and  remain  himself 
unknown.  The  door  of  this  room  led  into  the  Council 
Chamber  of  the  "Ten;"  thence  you  passed  into  several 


188 


WILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


large  antechambers,  one  leading  into  the  Senate  Chamber, 
and  another  into  the  Reception  Ilall  of  the  Ambassadors. 
This  last  is  the  finest  adorned  room  in  the  Palace.  Here 
are  the  Rape  of  Europa  and  the  Venice  Triumphant  of 
Paul  Veronese.  We  then  proceeded  to  visit  the  dungeons, 
the  great  object  of  interest. 

The  Piombi,  which  are  immediately  under  the  roof,  and 
from  whence  Cassanova  escaped,  did  not  appear  so  terrible 
as  we  had  anticipated ;  but  the  Pozza  are  enough  to  satisfy 
the  most  ardent  admirer  of  the  dismal.  Bjron  asserts  that 
there  was  yet  another  tier  under  these,  below  the  water 
line  of  the  canal,  but  that  they  were  filled  up  on  the  ap- 
proach of  the  French.  God  knows  !  these  are  bad  enough 
without  imagining  a  "  deeper  depth."  They  all  open  upon 
a  narrow  passage,  intersected  with  doors,  and  terminating 
in  a  small  square  recess,  facing  the  Canal,  where  the  crimi- 
nals were  strangled,  and  then  passed  over  to  the  gondola 
without.  Certainly  a  very  convenient  arrangement.  The 
Bridge  of  Sighs  is  thrown  across  this  same  canal  from  an 
upper  story,  and  communicates  with  a  large  prison  oppo- 
site. We  had  great  difficulty  in  getting  access  to  it.  We 
were  sent  from  one  custode  to  another — from  the  Palace 
to  the  Prison — each  party  asserting  that  the  door  on  his 
side  was  walled  up,  but  that  the  other  was  still  open. 
There  was  evidently  a  great  desire  manifested  to  get  rid 
of  us  without  gratifying  our  curiosity.  But  on  the  Bridge 
of  Sighs  we  were  determined  to  stand,  and  the  custode 
was  informed  that  he  should  not  get  one  kreutzer  for  past 
service  if  he  failed  us  here.  In  the  midst  of  our  endeavors 
we  were  re-inforced  by  two  Englishmen  and  some  Italians, 
among  whom  I  recognized  my  old  flame,  the  Genoese 

Marchesi,  with  her  handsome  eyes.    D   immediately 

fell  in  love  with  her,  and  forgot  the  Bridge  of  Sighs.  She 
certainly  looked  delicious,  and  there  was  no  resisting  her 


THE  "bridge  of  SIGHS !" 


189 


request.  She  was  a  great  ally,  and  tlie  old  eustode  began 
to  give  way,  and  promised,  if  we  would  wait  fifteen  minutes, 
till  he  found  the  real  guardian  of  the  fatal  Bridge,  we 
should  be  admitted.  We  agreed  to  wait  till  sunset,  and, 
in  the  meantime,  visited  the  other  side  of  the  Palace. 

They  have  converted  the  Hall  of  Debate  into  a  Library ; 
it  is  immense.  The  Paradise  of  Tintoretti  occupies  one 
end  of  it,  and  the  other  sides  are  covered  with  the  different 
battles  of  the  Republic.  Above,  close  to  the  ceiling,  are 
the  portraits  of  the  Doges,  ranged  in  order,  and  so  numer- 
ous, that  they  fill  up  the  whole  space.  There  is  just  room 
enouf]!;h  left  for  the  last  Dosre.  The  black  curtain  of 
Marino  Faliero  is  more  powerful  in  riveting  attention  than 
the  whole  line  of  pencilled  feature,  and  the  eye  singles  it 
out  at  once  with  a  mysterious  and  mournful  interest.  It 
breathes  the  vindictive  spirit  of  patrician  hate,  whose 
mask  was  patriotism  and  whose  aim  was  power, — and  that 
Italian  littleness  of  soul  that  could  deny  to  valor  and  to 
worth  its  monument. 

We  entered  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  from  the  Palace  side. 
Our  guide  was  very  anxious  to  convince  us  that  it  was 
never  used  for  any  other  purpose  than  a  mere  passage  from 
the  Prison  to  the  Palace,  and  back  again  ;  but  had  such 
been  the  case,  they  would  hardly  have  divided  it  into  two 
passages,  and  then  again  subdivided  one  of  these,  so  as  to 
form  a  kind  of  cell.  At  any  rate,  a  traveller  has  a  right 
to  imagine  any  thing  he  pleases.  The  Bridge  of  Sighs  is 
legitimate  ground  for  the  imagination.  Many  a  poor  devil, 
no  doubt  found  it  a  shocking  reality,  and  would  willingly 
have  changed  places  in  destiny  with  the  foremost  man  of 
Areola  rather  than  have  crossed  this  sepulchral  boundary. 

D          breathed  a  sigh  upon  it — but  it  was  for  the  fair 

Marchesi — an  interpreter  of  love.  What  unsentimental 
barbarism  !    The  idea  of  making  love  upon  the  Bridge  of 


190 


TTILD    OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


Sighs !  I  should  as  soon  think  of  getting  married  in  a 
grave-jard.    But  the  fellow  is  far  gone. 

"  And  what  of  peril  does  he  deem 
In  that  tumultuous,  tender  dream  ? 
Who,  that  has  felt  that  passion's  power, 
Ere  paused  or  thought  in  such  an  hour?" 

Well !  there  will  be  one  rival  the  less  in  the  desperate 
war  against  my  fair  neighbor.  The  Marchesi  will  shower 
glances  upon  him — and  as  he  is  perfectly  satisfied  with 
such  unsubstantial  food,  there  will  be  no  harm  done.  She 
is  rather  hard  to  read — her  gaze  has  two  interpretations  ; 
it  may  mean  "reward,"  but  at  the  same  time  it  hints, 
''I'm  fooling  thee."  There  is  a  sort  of  Gay  Spanker 
twinkle  in  one  corner  of  her  eye,  which  shines  like  a  steel- 
trap  in  the  high  grass.  Probably  the  most  awkward 
moment  of  a  man's  experience — always  excepting  his  first 
entrance  into  the  world — is  when  he  mistakes  the  person, 
and  is  obliged  to  retreat  before  a  laugh.  It  is  nothing  to 
escape  under  the  cover  of  a  storm,  or  threat  of  indignant 
innocence  of  any  kind — but  to  have  the  full  sunshine  of  a 
smile  upon  your  retreating  movement,  it  is  horrible  !  One 
is  denied  even  the  Parthian  privilege  of  aiming  an  arrow 
in  flight,  for  the  enemy  is  peace  herself. 


A  SUBTERRANEAN  FETE. 


191 


LEAF  XXX. 

THE  CAVE  OF  ADELSBERG. 

Venice,  Mat  29. 
We  have  been  to  Trieste  and  the  Cave  of  Adelsberg. 
We  were  persuaded  into  this  measure  hj  the  glowing 

description  of  Q  .    It  is  doubtless  all  very  fine  when 

the  weather  admits  of  observation,  but  it  rained  perse- 
veringly  from  the  moment  we  left  Trieste  until  we  returned 
to  it.  We  were  nine  hours  on  the  route,  and  when  we 
reached  the  village,  the  hotel  was  crowded  with  persons 
from  every  section  of  the  country  round  about,  collected 
together  to  see  the  annual  illumination  of  the  Cave  on  the 
following  day.  However,  when  they  observed  that  we 
were  strangers,  and  had  come  expressly  to  witness  the 
"fdte,"  they  procured  us  quarters  in  a  neighboring  house, 
and  told  us  to  come  to  the  hotel  for  our  meals.  Our  room 
was  none  of  the  best,  but  then  we  were  glad  to  get  accom- 
modations on  any  terms.    D  slept  on  the  floor.  lie 

was  perfectly  delighted  with  the  familiar  manner  of  the 
Dutch  girls,  and,  though  unacquainted  with  the  language, 
loafed  about  squeezing  their  hands  and  waists  in  the  most 
affectionate  way ;  indeed  I  was  awakened  in  the  morning 
by  the  struggles  of  a  healthy  little  Dutch  girl,  who  had 
courageously  entered  our  room  for  the  purpose  of  securing 
our  boots  to  be'  cleaned ;  but  approaching  too  near  to 

D  's  sybaritic  couch  he  had  seized  upon  the  fair  spoil 

and  was  using  the  most  expressive  pantomime. I  ever  wit- 
nessed. I  laughed  until  the  tears  came  into  my  eyes ;  it 
was  a  reversal  of  the  Potiphar  picture  in  the  Barberini 


192 


"^ILD    OATS,  SOWN"  ABROAD. 


palace.  She  held  back  vigorously,  and  was  trying  to  per- 
suade him  in  the  best  German  that  the  row  would  wake 

her  father,  while  D          was  attempting  in  indifferent 

French,  to  convince  her  that  his  intentions  were  of  the 
chastest  kind,  and  that  he  merely  wished  the  customary 
morning  salute.  It  was  certainly  a  very  innocent  affair ; 
but  doubtless  the  Dutch  girl's  experience  had  taught  her 
that  morning  salutes  under  such  circumstances  were  dan- 
gerous, so  she  persisted  in  declining  the  offer,  and  gained 
a  victory  over  D  and  the  boots. 

The  illumination  of  the  Cave  took  place  in  the  afternoon, 
and  it  really  was  grand  and  peculiar.  I  was  astonished  at 
its  extent.  It  is  said  to  have  been  explored  to  the  distance 
of  three  miles.  Some  of  the  chambers  are  magnificent, 
and,  seen  in  the  brilliancy  of  an  illumination,  realized  the 
scenic  beauty  of  the  fabled  halls  of  Eastern  story.  One 
of  the  largest  was  used  as  a  ball-room,  and  decorated  with 
becoming  splendor.  The  music  was  excellent,  and  there 
was  no  want  of  spirit  in  the  dance.  It  was  a  strange 
sight  to  grope  among  the  smaller  cavities  about,  and  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  peasants,  with  their  peculiar  w^hite  head- 
dress, dancing  wildly,  and  to  hear  the  music  die  away  in 
the  distant  passages,  or  be  caught  up  by  some  gay  crowd 
of  loiterers,  and  echoed  back  again  like  the  answering  cry 
of  spirit  unto  spirit.    I  thought  of  Faust  and  the  Brocken. 

In  one  place  the  Cave  looked  like  the  ruins  of  some 
ancient  city.  Far  as  the  eye  could  reach  lay  broken 
columns,  and  from  their  midst  rose  fantastic  shapes,  like 
shattered  temples  or  falling  palaces.  It  required  but  a 
slight  exercise  of  the  imagination  to  reco'nstruct  the  archi- 
tectural fragments.  In  the  "  draped  chamber"  was  the 
perfect  representation  of  a  flag  standing  against  the  wall ; 
— the  sculptor's  hand  could  not  have  framed  a  more  beauti- 
ful resemblance.    We  remained  until  five  o'clock,  and 


BYRON  AND  MOORE  IN  VENICE. 


193 


reached  Trieste  in  time  for  the  morning  steamer.  It  is  a 
clean-looking  town,  and  the  Hotel  Metternich  has  the 
best  beds  I  have  found  in  Europe. 

"We  had  a  somewhat  rough  passage  back  to  Venice,  and 
I  had  a  delightful  reminiscence  of  the  Atlantic  sea-sickness. 
It  is  enough  to  make  a  man  curse  three-fourths  of  this 
earth— that  is,  in  a  geographical  sense.  I  do  hate  the 
liver — it  is  the  meanest  contrivance  in  the  system.  It 
interferes  with  every  thing,  besides  making  one  so  deuced 
yellow.  Heaven  knows  !  I  always  envied  Buckingham 
when  Richard  called  him  a  ^'white-livered  renegade." 
He  was  one  in  a  thousand  to  have  had  the  advantage  of  a 
white  liver.  The  approach  to  Venice  from  the  Adriatic 
is  one  of  the  finest  pictures  in  the  world.  It  is  truly  as 
if  the  "enchanter's  wand"  had  been  at  work,  and  trans- 
formed the  spray  of  ocean  into  town  and  citadel,  dome  and 
palace,  in  derision  of  the  stormy  element.  It  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that  to  such  poets  as  Byron  and  Moore  it  was 
a  delight  to  float  by  the  hour  upon  the  quiet  water,  and 
watch  the  distant  city  fade  away  in  the  soft  twilight  of  a 
Venetian  sky, — more  like  some  fancied  creation  of  their 
own  than  a  reality,  or  to  leave  their  midnight  revel  and 
glide  from  its  distraction  on  their  watery  course  through 
vacant  streets,  and  beneath  the  very  shadow  of  these 
ruined  records  of  republican  pride,  and  thus  indulge  in 
those  mournful  reflections  which  only  the  verse  of  Byron 
could  syllable.  There  are  men  who  have  no  music  in  their 
souls,  but  we  doubt  if  there  lives  a  man  so  sublimely 
stupid,  so  enviously  apathetic,  so  malignly  indifierent,  as 
not  to  feel  somewhat  more  than  mere  existence  as  he  floats 
noiselessly  through  the  moonlit  passages  of  Venice.  There 
is  something  in  the  species  of  locomotion — something  in 
the  visible  signs  of  life,  yet  the  melancholy  silence  of 
lifelessness  around  —  something  in  these  dark  shadows 
N  17 


194 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


which  rest  side  by  side  with  the  bright  moonbeam  like 
infancy  and  decrepitude — something  in  the  quick  splash 
of  the  water,  and  more  than  all  in  the  wakeful  thought 
of  the  bravo  and  this  tempting  scene  of  murder — some- 
thing in  the  deeds  of  this  fiery  people,  in  the  once-myste- 
rious agents  of  its  masked  power — something  in  every 
thing  around,  above,  below,  about  you,  which  starts  the 
indolent  spirit  from  its  apathy,  like  the  emphatic  "  Mark 
me  !"  of  the  ghost  of  Hamlet.  One  may  "  damn  the 
moon,"  and  damn  sentiment  and  poetry  with  it,  but  it  is 
impossible  for  a  sane  man  with  money  in  his  pocket  and 
health  in  his  veins,  stretched  in  his  gondola  and  keeping 
an  appointment,  to  damn  the  clear,  moonlight,  midnight 
streets  of  Venice. 


LEAF  XXXI. 

BYRON'S  BEAUTIES. 

Venice,  Mat  30. 
Went  to  the  Manfrini  Palace  to  see  the  picture  so  much 
admired  by  Byron — it  is  the  wife  of  somebody  by  Guer- 
cino.  This  is  another  instance  of  the  singularity  of  Byron, 
for  there  is  really  nothing  remarkable  in  the  face.  It  was 
a  mere  sentiment  he  was  pursuing  in  his  idolatry  of  the 
picture.  Perhaps  some  objection  made  to  it  fastened  his 
capricious  nature  upon  its  deification.  I  fear  Byron  was 
not  a  connoissieur  in  physical  beauty.  Neither  Mary  Cha- 
worth  nor  the  Countess  Guiccioli,  present  strong  testi- 
monials of  his  taste  in  that  department.  I  have  seen 
them  both,  and  I  must  confess,  apart  from  their  fame  as 


DIANA  AND  ENDYMION  ! 


195 


connected  with  him,  I  should  not  have  accepted  a  special 
invitation  from  either,  if  thej  were  ever  so  disposed  to 
give  it. 

We  are  patiently  waiting  for  the  Regatta  and  Tombola 
to  come  off — but  the  rain  has  been  so  perseveringlj  con- 
stant that  the  authorities  will  probably  postpone  them 
until  the  next  week;  in  which  case  it  will  be  "Yarrow 
un visited,"  as  we  must  hasten  on  to  Switzerland.    I  have 

given  all  my  Tombola  tickets  to  our  fair  neighbor.  T  

is  very  anxious  to  take  her  to  the  Lido,  but  she  smiles  and 
insists  upon  taking  "  mamma"  along — it  is  "  sempra  mamma'* 
to  every  offer  of  a  ride  in  our  gondola,  and  as  this  respect- 
able individual  is  not  quite  as  attractive  as  her  daughter, 

why  T         don't  feel  disposed  to  take  the  jewel  with  the 

setting. 

The  Count  Chambord  and  his  mother  were  at  the  opera 
last  night.  He  is  finer  looking  than  I  expected  to  find  the 
legitimate  branch  of  the  Bourbons.  She  is  of  the  Queen 
of  Spain  order  of  women,  and  from  her  appearance  must 
have  led  rather  a  gay  sort  of  life.  They  spend  much  of 
their  time  here,  and  appear  to  be  popular. 

On  my  return  from  the  opera,  I  strolled^  by  the  Ducal 
Palace  to  get  a  look  of  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  by  moonlight. 
It  was  such  a  night  as  only  can  be  found  on  the  shore  of 
the  Adriatic  ; — so  still — so  clear — so  calm — so  beautiful — 
the  moon  had  banished  half  the  stars  from  Heaven,  and 
seemed  in  very  fondness  to  have  moved  much  nearer  to  our 
world's  embrace.  There  was  nothing  cold  or  coy  in  her 
pale  face — but  full  of  the  spirit  of  Endymion,  she  courted 
your  gaze  as  though  she  sought  another  lover  from  the 
rank  of  mortals.  I  must  have  stood  an  hour  on  the  Bridge 
that  connects  the  foot  path  by  the  Palace  and  the  Prison 
— enchanted  with  the  scene.  Before  me  lay  the  sheet  of 
water  upon  whose  surface,  so  smooth  and  silent  now,  once 


196 


WILD  OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


floated  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  '>vorld.  How  much  of 
beauty  and  of  power  had  landed  and  embarked  on  thia 
deserted  spot  even  before  the  land  of  my  birth  had  a  name  ! 
How  rich  in  association  was  every  thing  around  me ! 
Heavens !  how  I  longed  for  the  power  to  summon  the  il- 
lustrious dead !  What  if  the  spirit  of  old  Dandolo  or  the 
ill-fated  Faliero  could  up-rise  from  those  waters  and  give 
me  but  the  features  of  the  past !  The  fiery  souls — the 
impotent  rage — the  fell  revenge  that  once  ran  riot  in  this 
lordly  palace.  The  broken  hearts — the  silent  anguish, 
and  the  deep  despair  this  prison  once  entombed — what  and 
where  are  they  ?  I  paused  and  listened  as  though  Tasso's 
music  must  strike  my  ear ;  but  no — silence  all  and  solitude 
— not  even  a  sentinel  to  bespeak  protection  or  to  tell  of  sway. 
The  very  murmur  of  the  Adriatic  was  hushed,  I  grew 
melancholy  under  the  influence  of  such  outward  grandeur 
and  beauty,  and  I  no  fond  eyes — no  kindred  heart  to  share 
it  with  me — as  well  be  inurned  in  the  Bridge  of  Sighs 
above  me,  I  thought,  as  I  turned  to  leave  the  enchanted 
ground. 

After  all,  what  is  travel — what  are  reveries — what  even 
thoughts,  if  love  do  not  light  them  with  his  rapturous  torch 
• — if  willing  lips  and  listening  ears  be  not  there  to  give  an 
echo  to  the  utterance  of  the  o'erfraught  heart  ?  There  is 
no  pang  to  be  compared  to  the  loneliness,  the  inanity  with 
which  we  turn  hotel-ward — (for  it  is  not  homeward) — from 
a  scene  like  this,  when  it  has  been  unshared  by  love.  I 
have  often  thought  that  Providence  might  have  so  arranged 
to  keep  the  women  in  the  clouds  until  we  had  something 
really  worth  sharing  with  them,  and  then  dropped  them 
down  as  we  v\'anted  them,  like  apricots  or  any  other  deli- 
cious fruit ; — but  I  am  wandering  from  my  travels. 

There  is  a  good  specimen  of  the  species  Englishman 
here.    We  breakfast  together  sometimes  at  Florian's ; — 


THE  PINCH  OF  SNUFF. 


197 


he  thinks  the  greatest  calamity  that  has  befallen  England 
since  the  fire  of  London,  is  the  death  of  Crockford,  with 
the  stakes  of  the  last  Derby  undecided.  I  asked  him  if 
there  was  no  other  man  in  England  to  decide  the  difficulty. 
"  Another  man  in  England !  Great  God !  Sir,  there  is 
not  another  Crockford  in  the  world."  Consequently  the 
world  must  be  in  a  bad  way. 


Milan,  June  17. 
We  could  delay  no  longer  in  Venice,  and  were  obliged 
to  leave  without  seeing  the  Regatta  and  Tombola.  The 
sun  broke  out  most  gloriously  the  very  day  of  our  depar- 
ture after  a  rain  storm  of  seven  days'  continuance,  and 
Venice  never  looked  lovelier  than  when  she  threw  back  the 
gilded  radiance  of  her  domes  and  towers  upon  our  parting 
gaze. 

We  took  the  railroad  for  Padua,  and  I  had  the  misfor- 
tune to  get  seated  by  the  side  of  a  snufiy  old  gentleman 
who  would  talk  French,  and  would  insist  upon  my  taking 
a  pinch  of  his  miserable  dust,  which  had  never  seen  a  to- 
bacco plantation,  and  had  no  nearer  relationship  to  snuff 
than  chalk  has  to  cheese.  It  could  no  more  draw  a  sneeze 
out  of  me  than  influenza  could  a  sentiment.  I  endured 
the  martyrdom  for  some  time, — at  last  I  told  him  my  friend 
had  some  snufi*,  made  in  America,  but  that  it  was  weak  com- 
pared to  his  own.    He  expressed  a  strong  desire  to  try  it. 

I  called  to  D  to  hand  me  his  box  ;  it  was  regular  Mac- 

caboy — powerful  stuff — the  grains  almost  the  size  of  a 
Southern  bed-bug ;  the  very  sight  of  it  used  to  make  me 
sneeze.  I  handed  the  box  to  the  old  gentleman,  and  said 
if  he  wished  really  to  enjoy  it  he  must  dive  deep  with  his 
fingers.  He  was  an  old  snuffer,  and  consequently  knew 
how  to  gather  up  a  small  wheel-barrow  load,  and  deposit 
it  in  his  proboscis.    There  was  no  occasion  in  this  case  to 

17* 


198 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


encourage  it  by  a  shake  of  the  nose.  It  had  scarcely  got 
there  before  the  veteran  opened  such  a  terrific  sneeze  that 
all  the  passengers  started  in  amazement.  He  gathered 
strength  at  each  spasm  for  a  new  outburst,  and  at  each 
lull  as  he  turned  to  express  his  astonishment  and  gratitude 
to  me,  away  went  his  head  until  a  perfect  shower  of  mist 
enveloped  him,  and  I  began  to  fear  the  old  gentleman's 
nose  would  pay  the  forfeit  for  such  excessive  enjoyment. 
We  left  him  sneezing  in  the  depot  at  Padua  amid  continued 
effort  to  tell  me  at  parting  that  America  must  be  an  extra- 
ordinary country,  and  that  he  owed  to  me  the  most  deli- 
cious moment  of  his  life.  How  he  ever  can  stoop  again  to 
vulgar  dust  is  a  query.  We  had  a  dreadful  time  getting 
to  Verona ;  the  diligence  was  crammed — the  horses  slow — 
the  heat  excessive — beside  being  cursed  with  an  irritable 
Frenchman  whose  trunk  had  been  left  behind — and  who 
would  allow  no  other  idea  to  engage  our  attention,  but  his 
trunk.  He  did  nothing  but  talk  trunk,  and  would  eat 
neither  dinner  nor  supper,  because  he  had  not  his  trunk." 
To  get  rid  of  this  incessant  reference  to  his  "malle," 
which  had  become  our  "mal,"  I  offered  him  my  trunk  and 
its  contents,  but  nothing  would  satisfy  him,  and  if  any 
man  ever  deserved  a  "  night-mare"  from  over-eating,  I  do 
hope  that  scoundrel  was  shut  up  tight  that  night  in  his  in- 
fernal trunk,  like  the  poor  girl  in  the  ''Mistletoe  Song." 

At  Yerona,  I  did  not  go  to  see  the  tomb  of  Juliet,  be- 
cause I  want  no  humbug  associations  connected  with  Juliet. 
It  is  too  sweet  a  story  to  seek  a  record  for  it  beyond  the 
imagination.  We  are  rather  pleasantly  quartered  here, 
and  will  spend  at  least  two  weeks,  and  then  for  the  gla- 
ciers and  the  sources  of  "  the  arrowy  Rhone." 


THE  ROCK-CRYSTAL  COFFIN. 


199 


LEAF  XXXII. 

MILAN. 

Milan,  June,  — 18. 
It  is  too  warm  to  work  hard.  The  summer  sun  is  upon 
us,  and  I  take  no  delight  in  panting  through  the  streets  of 
Milan  like  a  fagged-out  ballet-dancer.  We  climbed  to  the 
top  of  the  cathedral  to-daj,  and  though  I  had  vowed  never 
to  be  caught  again  fluttering  about  the  eaves  of  these 
"  cloud-capped"  buildings,  I  did  not  regret  the  exception 
made  in  this  case.  You  can  form  but  a  poor  idea  of  the 
exquisite  work  lavished  upon  this  Cathedral  looking  at  it 
from  below ;  it  must  be  seen  from  above  to  appreciate  the 
almost  endless  labor  absolutely  wasted  upon  ornaments  too 
minute  to  be  detected  without  a  careful  examination.  It 
looks  like  a  flower-garden  done  in  marble.  The  architect 
has  wrapped  himself  in  a  cambric  lace  shroud,  and  may 
defy  the  world  to  produce  another  such  monument.  After 
crawling  about  the  roof  for  more  than  an  hour,  I  proposed 
"  doing  up"  the  entire  edifice  at  once,  so  we  proceeded  to 
the  vault  beneath,  where  sleeps  the  dust  of  the  famous 
Carlo  Borromeo.  What  a  homily  is  here  !  Within  walls, 
encased  with  silver,  and  wrought  in  the  highest  perfection 
of  art,  in  a  cofiin,  framed  entirely  of  rock  crystal,  with  a 
jeweled  crosier  in  his  hand,  and  gifts  of  priceless  value 
from  empresses  and  kings  strewn  above  him,  lies  a  withered 
skeleton,  called  Carlo  Borromeo !  He  looks  like  a  thou- 
sand others  I  have  seen  in  charnel-houses,  and  I  question 
whether  twenty  francs  is  not  too  much  to  pay  for  a  sight 
of  the  accessories  to  this  defunct  gentleman.  I  was  pon- 
dering this  matter  over  very  seriously  as  I  came  down  the 


200 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


steps  of  the  Cathedral,  when  I  was  somewhat  startled  by 
the  abrupt  infamous  offer  of  an  outside  scoundrel,  to  pro- 
cure a  woman  for  me.  I  cannot  say  I  felt  all  the  indig- 
nation necessary  upon  such  an  occasion ;  but  I  turned  and 
asked  the  villain  whether  he  had  ever  paid  twenty  francs 
to  see  the  mummied  remains  of  Borromeo.  He  crossed 
himself,  and  declared  if  the  saint  had  got  that  much  of 
my  money  to-day,  he  must  postpone  his  little  business 
until  to-morrow.  I  could  not  but  admire  the  respect 
with  which  he  deferred  his  claim  to  that  of  the  saint,  as  he 
called  him — though  I  suspect  a  casuist  might  have  his 
doubts  which  was  the  strongest. 

We  amused  ourselves  afterwards  with  a  stroll  through  the 
market  place.    It  was  mostly  occupied  by  women  skinning 

frogs,  and  as  T  is  determined  to  master  the  dissecting 

department  of  science  before  returning  home,  we  took  an 
accurate  survey  of  the  operation.  It  is  done  very  expertly 
by  means  of  small  shears.  The  unhappy  croaker  is  taken 
out  of  the  basket  alive,  and  before  one  thought  of  his 
native  puddle  can  come  over  him,  he  really  undergoes  the 
same  process  that  Solomon  only  threatened  to  that  dis- 
puted child  mentioned  in  story.  The  hinder  portion 
is  then  quickly  flayed,  while  the  other  half  sits  quietly 
blinking  its  eyes  at  the  skinned  remainder  of  its  own  ana- 
tomy, which  hangs  on  a  string  before  it.  If  these  frogs 
have  any  sense  of  pain,  their  fate  is  decidedly  worse  than 
those  writhing  eels  that  evince  such  an  antipathy  to  being 
skinned.  True,  they  may  have  a  greater  fund  of  philo- 
sophy to  fall  back  upon,  and  may  feel  a  pride  in  taking 
their  martyrdom  so  stoically.  Your  frog  at  best  seems  a 
melancholy  animal.  Bad  style  of  habitation  makes  him 
dismal.  They  probably  can  never  get  over  the  idea  of 
having  been  once  used  as  a  plague. 

By  the  way,  what  can  we  do  at  night  ?     La  Scab 


ECCENTRICITY  OF  ART. 


201 


Theatre  is  closed,  and  the  Carcero  is  a  poor  affair.  They 
played  "The  daughter  of  the  Kegiment"  last  night,  and 
the  prima  donna  appeared  determined  to  shew  to  what  per- 
fection a  war-whoop  could  be  carried.  The  scream  of 
Bryan's  "  waterfowl"  sounds  well  in  poetry,  but  it  will 
hardly  do  to  introduce  it  into  the  opera.  It  is  the  first 
time  I  have  seen  this  character  accompany  herself  on  the 
drum.  That  would  be  a  great  "  card"  at  home,  although 
I  hardly  think  that  Donizetti  ever  intended  it. 

The  paintings  here  are  not  so  fine  as  I  had  anticipated. 
There  is  but  one  gallery  worth  a  second  visit.  "  The  last 
Supper,"  of  Da  Vinci,  in  the  former  refectory  of  Sta. 
Maria  del  Grazia,  is  familiar  to  every  body,  from  the  many 
engravings  of  it  scattered  about.  It  has  been  cleaned  and 
retouched  so  often,  that  little  of  the  original  remains. 
There  is  a  very  singular  picture  by  one  of  the  old  masters 
in  the  "  Academic  de  Belle  Arte"  here.  It  is  a  Christ, 
habited  in  a  straw  hat,  instead  of  the  glory  which  usually 
surrounds  his  head.  I  presume  the  painter  supposed  his 
predecessors  had  exhausted  the  subject,  and  he  was  bent 
upon  introducing  some  originality  into  his  method  of  treat- 
ing it.  There  is  certainly  a  vast  difference  in  the  effect, 
and  I  could  not  abstain  from  a  sense  of  the  ridiculous  as  I 
examined  the  jaunty  manner  in  which  he  had  stuck  the  hat 
on  the  back  of  the  head.  It  Avas  the  sublimity  of  Leghorn. 
If  that  picture  was  painted  out  of  the  lunatic  asylum,  it 

is  a  master-piece.     T  pronounced  it  the  poetry  of 

straw,  but  questioned  the  chronology  of  the  costume. 

In  the  Library  of  St.  Ambrosia,  they  have  the  Virgil  of 
Petrarch,  and  a  lock  of  the  hair  of  Lucrezia  Borgia — both 
very  interesting  relics.  I  have  not  met  with  any  portrait 
of  this  infamous  woman,  and  I  hoped  I  should  find  one  here, 
but  am  disappointed,  and  must  be  content  with  this  scrap 
of  evidence,  as  to  her  extraordinary  beauty.    The  color  is 


202 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


flaxen,  of  the  lightest  shade,  exceedingly  soft,  and  what 
might  be  termed  the  Teutonic  style.  I  can  easily  imagine 
its  connection  with  dark  eyes  and  fair  complexion  must 
have  presented  great  attraction.  AYhat  pride  these  holy 
fathers  can  take  in  preserving  this  memorial  of  their  for- 
mer intercourse  with  the  most  abandoned  woman  in  Chris- 
tendom, is  more  than  I  can  conceive.  If  history  does  not 
belie  this  dame,  her  amorous  propensities  and  poisonous  qua- 
lities were  so  universally  indulged  in,  that  she  must  have  ex- 
perienced  great  difficulty  to  keep  within  the  pale  of  "  good 
society."  Still,  one  would  think  this  patronage  from  holy 
men  should  go  far  to  exonerate  her  from  many  of  the  vile 
charges  brought  against  her.  Duke  Alphonso  never  seems 
to  have  turned  his  jealous  eyes  in  this  direction,  or  he 
might  have  found  cause  to  send  a  draught  of  the  Borgia 
wine  to  some  of  the  ghostly  fathers  of  St.  Ambrosia.  How 
many  "  sly  Joe  Bagstocks"  have  figured  in  monasteries  ? 
There  is  something  very  enticing  in  the  quiet  and  cleanli- 
ness of  this  establishment.  Give  me  ten  years  more  to 
garner  up  a  whole  host  of  pleasant  memories,  and  I  should 
like  to  come  and  dream  away  the  balance  of  existence 
among  these  placid  old  gentlemen,  whose  countenances 
bear  no  trace  of  those  devouring  passions  that  eat  into  the 
soul.  What  a  place  for  twilight  reverie  !  What  a  spot  to 
live  o'er  again  the  luxury  of  love — the  anxiety  of  hate  !  To 
see  the  bourne  of  every  feeling  that  once  agitated  your 
being  bounded  by  a  grave,  and  yourself  the  empty  casket 
from  which  every  jewel  has  been  pilfered  by  the  treache- 
rous hand  of  hope.  Alas  !  what  is  left  at  last  to  every 
one  but  a  rosary  of  sweet  or  bitter  thoughts  to  pray  over  ? 
— and  where  can  he  find  a  calmer  altar  than  these  clois- 
tered palaces  ?  However,  I  am  not  ready  for  that  sort  of 
thing  just  yet. 

I  was  merely  led  into  this  train  of  thought  by  a  solitary 


THOUGHTS  IN  A  MONASTERY. 


203 


"R'alk  on  the  ramparts.  I  went  in  pursuit  of  love,  and  was 
disappointed.  These  kind  of  disappointments  always  in- 
cline a  man  to  sombre  meditation.  The  critics  have  written 
a  great  deal  about  Hamlet,  his  doubting  nature,  his  want 
of  will,  his  perplexed  movements,  and  all  that ;  now  the 
simple  truth  of  the  matter  is,  that  any  one  of  those  critics 
can  put  himself  into  Hamlet's  shoes  if  he  only  gets  up 
one  broken  appointment  on  the  ramparts  of  Elsinore,  or 
Milan,  or  any  other  pleasant  place  ;  and  though  Shake- 
speare don't  say  as  much,  still  he  leaves  you  to  infer  that 
Hamlet  was  a  disappointed  man.  Why  does  he  make  such 
a  row  about  his  uncle's  marriage,  even  before  he  is  aware 
of  any  circumstances  connected  with  it,  except  the  haste  ? 
Certainly  his  mother  could  not  have  been  the  first  widow 
in  Denmark  who  doffed  her  weeds  in  advance  of  the  time. 

LEAF  XXXIII. 

THE  TOUR  OF  SWITZERLAND. 

RiCHENAU,  June  1,  — . 
Here  we  are  undergoing  the  necessary  training  for  the 
great  "tour  of  Switzerland,"  on  foot.  From  this  point, 
where  Louis  Philippe  once  rusticated  and  amused  himself 
by  teaching  mathematics,  we  intend  to  commence  our  base 
line,  and  woe  betide  the  individual  who  will  dare  to  mur- 
mur at  the  hardships  we  are  to  endure  during  this  semi- 
philosophical  survey  of  mountain  land  and  waterfalls. — 
We  have  not  exactly  made  a  "quadruple  alliance,"  as 
there  is  only  three  of  us,  but  true  to  the  democratic  prin- 
ciple, we  have  pledged  our  lives,  our  fortunes,  and  our 


204 


WILD  OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


sacred  honors,  neither  to  turn  back  nor  to  ride  so  long  as 
the  majority  oppose  the  measure ;  and  as  I  shall  probably 
always  hold  the  balance  of  power  in  my  own  hands,  the 
manifest  destiny  of  the  party  is  to  suffer  fatigue  and  blis- 

terdom.    D  is  entirely  too  fat  for  gentility,  and  must 

be  reduced  to  a  respectable  weight  before  we  leave  the 
mountains ;  as  to  T  ,  he  persists  in  retaining  his  high- 
heeled  boots,  contrary  to  the  advice  of  all  pedestrians — 
but  little  men  will  pay  any  price  for  an  inch  to  their 
stature,  thus  belying  Scripture,  and,  what  is  more  ridicu- 
lous in  this  case,  trying  competition  with  these  eternal  big 
mountains. 

I  don't  know  what  I  look  like  in  a  chip  hat,  brogans, 
and  beard  to  match,  but  hang  me  !  if  my  companions  have 
not  very  much  the  appearance  of  escaped  convicts.  I 
never  could  have  imagined  that  outer  rig  could  have  so 
much  to  do  in  making  up  the  sum  total  of  villanous  expres- 
sion :  and  yet  we  flatter  ourselves  that  we  shall  carry 
captive  several  short  petticoats  among  these  children  of 

the  mist.    T  intends  dedicatino-  his  most  assassinating^ 

glance  to  the  conquest  of  Switzerland,  and  is  now  practi- 
sing a  special  '  tilt,'  but  with  blunt  weapons,  at  a  very 
pretty  maiden  of  Coire,  one  of  the  neighboring  villages, 
and  wishes  us  to  defer  our  journey  until  he  wins  her 
colors ;  but  Maria,  as  she  is  called,  is  evidently  a  coquette, 
and  I  am  much  mistaken  if  I  did  not  catch  her  winking 
over  our  shoulders  at  a  bandit-looking  rascal  in  a  hunting- 
shirt,  with  a  cock  feather  in  his  hat.    I  told  T  as  he 

had  no  "  fiddle  to  hang  up,"  he  might  as  well  hang  up  his 
boots,  as  they  are  just  as  emblematic  of  "  occupation 
gone  besides,  he  had  the  precedent  of  Bombastes  Furi- 
oso  to  hang  upon. — The  "little  man"  said  I  was  jealous — 
gracious  !  jealous  !  the  idea  of  a  man  with  my  beard  being 
jealous  of  any  thing  but  a  goat !  or  the  statue  of  Moses  ! 
I  confess  to  a  pang,  when  I  saw  that  famous  beard. 


THE  LAKE  OF  COMO.  205 


On  our  way  from  Milan  to  the  Lake  of  Como,  we  took 
the  top  of  the  diligence,  and  had  a  glorious  view  of  the 
snowy  peaks  of  Switzerland.  It  was  early  morning,  and 
the  sun  was  trying  kis  best  to  warm  them  up,  but  like  a 
haughty  beauty,  they  spurned  his  homage,  and  only  looked 
the  colder  as  he  kissed  them.  By  Jove  !  they  are  magni- 
ficent !  but  I  don't  like  contact  with  cold  women  or  cold 
mountains — both  freeze  the  blood,  and  make  the  air  unso- 
cial— to  stand  and  gaze  upon  them  in  the  distance  is 
enough  for  me,  and  I  shall  be  delighted  when  I  can  mount 
the  last  pass,  and  say  with  Manfred  : — "  Farewell !  I  ne'er 
shall  see  thee  more  I"  I  could  live  for  ever  on  the  shore 
of  Lake  Como — it  has  all  the  beauty  of  our  own  small 
lakes,  with  a  softness  of  landscape  and  a  clustering  of 
villas  which  they  have  not.  I  could  hardly  refrain  from 
stopping  a  day  to  visit  the  former  residence  of  Caroline  of 
Brunswick,  on  its  bank,  but  we  have  delayed  too  long  as 
it  is  in  getting  into  Switzerland,  and  I  was  obliged  to 
forego  that  pleasure.  Pasta  also  resides  on  Lake  Como, 
and  is  said  to  be  very  hospitable  to  strangers.  "We  left 
Chiavenna  to  cross  the  Splugen,  at  5  o'clock,  A.  M.  We 
had  the  usual  difficulty  in  rising  at  that  hour,  and  I  am 
confident  that  breakfast  was  eaten  in  a  somnambulic  state, 
for  we  had  no  recollection  of  it  as  we  toiled  up  the  zig-zags 
of  the  mountains.  I  felt  disposed  to  sell  myself  much 
cheaper  than  that  pottage  affair,  and  if  an  avalanche  of 
bread  had  fallen  about  that  time,  it  would  not  have  carried 
us  ofif :  that  I  will  warrant ;  for  we  had  room  enough  for 
it  if  we  had  only  chosen  to  spread  ourselves.  On  the 
way,  there  was  a  fine  waterfall  just  at  the  edge  of  the 
road,  but  like  Custis'  famous  picture  of  the  "Battle  of 
Trenton,"  you  must  get  flat  upon  your  belly,  if  you 

wish  to  see  it  to  any  advantage.    D  refused  to  look, 

as  he  considered  his  belly  too  empty  to  lie  down  upon. 

18 


206 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


We  got  our  dinner  at  last,  and  never  did  representatives 
of  famine  obey  their  master  with  more  alacrity.  The 
servant  girl  was  no  bad  index,  during  the  first  course,  of 
one  of  their  own  cataracts ;  she  fretted,  foamed,  and 
dashed  about  with  a  terrible  impetuosity,  caused  by  the 
rapid  succession  of  all  species  of  demands,  until  she  broke 
several  articles  of  crockery,  and  overflowed  a  large  tract 
of  dry  table,  and  sundry  pantaloons  stuff  with  the  contents 
of  a  cruet  ;  this  caused  considerable  diversion  in  her  favor 
from  the  dry  portion  of  the  passengers,  and  I  have  my 
doubts  to  this  moment  whether  the  "spill"  was  an  accident 
or  a  ruse  de  guerre  to  kill  off  the  edge  of  the  strongest 
appetites.  We  had  only  one  lady  passenger;  her  chief 
merit  was  a  violent  attachment  to  violets,  and  as  it  gave 
no  trouble  to  collect  them  for  her,  I  devoted  myself  to  the 
employment;  they  grew  in  great  quantities  up  to  the  very 
line  of  the  snowy  region — indeed,  I  culled  a  handful  from 
the  very  bosom  of  the  snow.  The  contrast  was  beautiful 
— the  color  so  "  deeply  blue,"  so  exquisitely  pure,  they 
looked  like  little  fragments  of  a  summer  sky  left  sprinkled 
in  the  lap  of  winter.  I  wonder  Juliet  did  not  wish  Romeo 
to  be  cut  up  into  little  violets,  instead  of  cold  stars,  that 
are  the  least  sjmpathizing  of  all  lovely  creations.  Who 
ever  found  any  solace  in  gazing  at  the  stars  ?  But  these  are 
things  to  weep  over.  I  really  could  have  made  a  friend 
out  of  our  fellow  passenger  for  this  one  trait  of  character — 
she  did  not  go  into  any  passionate  exclamation  over  the 
flowers,  as  your  fantastic  lady  does,  but  she  looked  long 
and  lovingly  into  their  very  souls,  (for  I  know  violets  have 
souls)  as  though  they  recalled  some  dream  of  other  times. 

She  too  has  her  associations,  thought  I,  and  forthwith  T  

and  myself  made  a  sally  upon  the  sentimental  character 
of  the  whole  German  nation — she  defended  the  fatherland 
most  eloquently,  and  said  we  English  did  not  sufficiently 


THE  IMMORTAL  DRUMMER- BOY. 


207 


distinguish  terms  as  applied  to  different  people  from  our- 
selves— that  the  Germans  did  not  recognize  that  mere 
mental  existence  entirely  separated  from  the  heart,  which 
Byron  had  called  Nympholepsy,"  but  with  them  both 
sentiment  and  imagination  were  feelings,  and  as  much  mat- 
ters of  pleasure  and  pain,  as  the  realities  of  life.  I  told 
her  the  English  were  just  as  eager  in  pursuit  of  a  senti- 
ment, if  it  had  a  body  annexed  to  it,  and  took  as  much 
pleasure  in  it  as  the  Germans,  but  they  never  committed 
suicide  from  excess  of  sentimentalisra :  she  said  they  never 
had  as  good  a  cause  as  that,  for  their  suicides  notori- 
ously arose  from  want  of  feeling  ;  and  that,  after  search- 
ing every  country  in  vain  to  find  an  emotion,  they  very 
composedly  blew  their  brains  out,  or  cut  their  throats,  as 
though  there  were  a  peculiar  kind  of  delight  in  ending  the 
matter.  As  there  was  some  truth  in  this  remark,  I  found 
occasion  to  admire  the  scenery  of  the  Splugen,  and  left 
the  fatherland  alone.  How  McDonald  ever  got  over  here 
with  his  army,  is  a  mystery  to  me.  It  was  a  greater  feat 
than  his  leading  of  the  column  at  "Wagram,  when  he  bore 
the  empire  on  his  sword.  I  saw  the  spot  where  the  little 
drummer  boy"  was  carried  away  by  the  avalanche,  and 
was  heard  beating  his  drum  for  relief,  far  .down  the  abyss. 
Poor  little  fellow !  what  a  dreadful  fate  !  to  be  left  there 
helpless,  hopeless,  with  nought  but  the  sky  above,  and  the 
roaring  torrent  beneath,  to  call  upon  for  succor  ;  to  hear 
his  comrades  passing  on  their  way  to  some  field  of  glory, 
and  he  left  to  beat  his  last  reveille  on  that  narrow  ledge, 
and  then  to  wait  for  death,  with  the  lammer-geyer  swoop- 
ing around  him,  and  these  eternal  hills  mocking  the  agony 
of  his  heart  in  their  impassible  barrier  !  Never  mind !  the 
little  fellow  is  immortal :  he  is  not  the  least  interesting  of 
that  group  of  mountain  memories  which  greet  the  traveller 
on  his  passage  through  these  regions.    The  Via  Mala  is 


208 


WILD   OATS,  SOVTN  ABROAD. 


an  awful-looking  place,  but  the  road  is  so  level,  and  the 
diligence  passes  over  it  so  rapidly,  that  one  scarcely  gets 
an  opportunity  to  appreciate  the  grandeur  of  the  scene. 
I  regret  now  that  we  did  not  walk  over  this  section  of  the 
road :  but  we  shall  get  walking  enough.  I  feel  some  curi- 
osity to  witness  the  result  of  to-morrow's  performance. 
Our  guide  has  a  Harvey  Birch  look,  and  by  his  quizzical 

survey  of  T  's  boots,  intends  to  give  their  proprietor 

"particular  Jessie." 


LEAF  XXXIV. 

OVER  THE  ALPS. 

Andermast,  Juxe  17. 
This  may  be  very  delightful  some  ten  years  hence,  but 
no  ancient  crusader  ever  felt  more  disgusted  at  his  own 
folly,  when  toiling  about  the  hills  of  Ararat,  than  I  do  at 
this  present  moment.  "We  have  just  closed  what  might  be 
called  the  "first  round"  in  this  pedestrian  battle,  and 
already  our  whole  reserves  are  used  up,  and  even  the  guide 
must  be  numbered  among  the  cripples.  We  present  very 
much  the  appearance  of  FalstaflTs  men,  and  I  much  doubt 
whether  our  respectable  mammas  would  acknowledge  ns. 
I  regret  to  add,  that  the  vote  taken  this  morning  in  the 
question  of  mules  for  to-morrow  was  carried  unanimously, 
and  a  smile,  something  like  the  Indian  who  ate  the  mus- 
tard, was  seen  to  play  upon  our  faces.    The  second  day 

was  downright  murder.    D  blew  like  an  amorous  bull, 

and  T  presented  a  heel  not  many  removes  from  the 

flayed  Marsyas.    Our  guide  emptied  several  raw  eggs  into 


WIT,  AND  ITS  RETTARD.  209 

his  shoes,  and  declared  it  to  be  the  best  specific  in  the 
world  for  raw  flesh.  I  thought  the  remedy  worse  than  the 
disease,  and  told  him  they  must  have  got  their  reputation 
for  trampling  upon  yokes  from  that  custom,  but  the  stupid 
scoundrel  would  not  see  the  wit  of,  the  thing,  and  I  was 
most  unmercifully  fined  a  bottle  of  Rudesheimer.  Served 
me  right !  What  business  had  I,  amid  our  sulFerings,  to 
indulge  in  humor  ?  Ah !  we  were  a  gay  party  when  we 
left  Richenau  day  before  yesterday.  But  it  was  like  that 
sound  of  revelry  at  Brussels:  it  only  lasted  a  few  hours. 
The  first  hill  reduced  our  laughter  to  a  mere  chuckle,  and 
as  we  pressed  forward,  the  chuckle  became  a  grin,  and 
ended  in  a  "  ghastly  smile,"  as  we  labored  under  a  meri- 
dian sun  in  the  narrow  depths  of  Trons,  looking  anxiously 
for  another  pause  in  the  footsteps  of  our  inexorable  guide ; 
but  like  that  boy  "Excelsior,"  up  he  went  with  our  knap- 
sack on  his  shoulder,  and  we  followed  single  file,  each 
striving  to  hide  his  wretchedness  in  the  forced  vigor  with 
which  we  struck  our  Alpen  stick  into  the  earth.  God 
forgive  me !  but  I  felt  more  disposed  to  stick  it  into  the 
guide. 

At  Trons,  the  end  of  the  first  day's  labor,  we  compared 
notes,  or  rather  sensations,  and  I  soon  discovered  that  the 
slightest  encouragement  of  our  feelings  would  produce  a 
revolt,  or  rather  an  utter  repudiation  of  the  great  demo- 
cratic principle.  So  I  laid  down  the  law  anew,  and  tanta- 
lized T  with  a  fear  that  he  was  breaking  down.  This 

settled  the  doubt,  and  next  morning  our  pilgrimage  opened 
with  the  fixed  purpose  of  crossing  the  Ober  Alps,  or  strew- 
ing the  earth  with  our  enfeebled  bodies.  The  true  spirit 
of  the  Switzer  broke  out,  and  we  achieved  the  distance  to 
Dissentis,  without  a  murmur.  Here  we  got  an  execrable 
dinner,  and  afterwards  started  ofi"  in  a  snow-storm  for  An- 
dermast.  I  shall  never  forget  it.  The  flakes  came  so 
0  18* 


210 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


thick  that  we  could  not  see  each  other,  much  less  the  direc- 
tion of  the  path,  and  we  soon  lost  all  idea,  if  we  had  any, 
of  our  whereabout.  The  guide  admitted  that  he  had  not 
crossed  this  pass  for  seventeen  years,  and  might  have  mis- 
taken the  road,  but  said  he  should  know  exactly  where  we 
were  when  we  got  in  sight  of  the  Ober-Alp  sea."  I  con- 
sidered that  we  should  be  exceedingly  lucky  if  we  got  a 
sight  of  any  thing  in  such  a  blinding  storm;  but  on  we 

went,  like  a  thin  procession  of  the  "  Misericordia :"  T  

bringing  up  the  rear;  another  Ney,  in  all  save  size  and 

"baton" — while  D          puffed  up  the  hill  in  front,  like  a 

wounded  buffalo.  For  myself,  I  soliloquized  upon  the 
idiotic  character  of  our  proceedings,  and  felt  disposed  to 
allow  myself  to  be  written  down  "  an  ass,"  if  caught  again 
in  the  same  predicament.  In  the  midst  of  the  more  ener- 
getic portion  of  my  soliloquy,  we  came  up  to  some  chalets. 
We  proposed  a  halt  at  once,  and  our  guide  opened  a  com- 
munication with  the  shepherds  standing  about  us  as  to  our 
route  to  Andermast.  I  did  not  understand  the  patois  they 
used,  but  was  told  by  the  guide  that  they  refused  to  show 
him  the  way,  unless  he  paid  twenty  francs  for  the  informa- 
tion.   We  uttered  a  perfect  shout  of  indignation.    "  This 

then  is  the  land  of  Tell,"  says  I.    T  replied,  "these 

people  tell  nothing ;"  forthwith  we  fined  him  a  bottle.  But 
it  was  no  joke.  Here  we  were  lost  in  the  snow,  and  the 
afternoon  far  advanced,  to  say  nothing  of  the  ruffianism  of 
fellows  who  wished  to  levy  a  contribution  under  such  cir- 
cumstances.   Men  who  could  do  that,  could  murder,  if  they 

did  not  succeed  in  their  robbery,  but  D  insisted  upon 

our  refusing  such  an  outrageous  demand ;  "  rather  die 
first," — I  did  not  care  about  going  that  far,  and  qualified 
it:  "rather  fight  first."  During  the  parley,  the  snow 
Btorm  disappeared,  and  the  sun  burst  forth  like  that  of 
Austerlitz.    Our  guide  said  he  knew  the  road  now,  and 


THE  COLD  BATH  ! 


211 


awaj  we  paddled,  with  some  warmly  expressed  sentiments 
upon  the  contemptible  conduct  of  such  mountaineers.  "  No 
money,  no  Swiss,"  was  very  early  verified  in  our  experi- 
ence, and  I  shall  have  to  read  over  several  acts  of  devotion 
on  the  part  of  Swiss  Guards,  before  they  obliterate  this 
record  of  their  want  of  soul,  not  to  say  common  decency 
and  humanity.  Talk  to  me  about  such  scoundrels  having 
any  poetry  in  their  carcases,  or  weeping  in  silence  at  the 
sound  of  the  "Ranz  des  Vachs  !"  Mighty  picturesque  in 
their  appearance,  to  be  sure  !  but  I  never  want  them  intro- 
duced into  my  landscape  again,  under  similar  circumstances. 
May  the  temptations  of  St.  Anthony  afflict  them  forever ! 
It  was  five  o'clock  when  we  reached  the  top  of  the  pass, 
and,  thinking  to  shorten  our  route,  the  guide  proposed  to 
cross  the  Ober-Alps  sea  on  the  ice,  instead  of  skirting  the 
shore ;  the  cross-cut  was  too  tempting  to  be  resisted,  so  he 
led  the  way,  and  we  followed.  The  snow  which  had  just 
fallen,  while  it  rendered  the  walking  easy,  concealed  the 
danger  of  our  enterprise.  We  had  scarcely  got  one  fourth 
over,  when  the  guide  suddenly  disappeared  in  about  sixty 
fathoms  of  water.  As  I  came  next  in  the  order  of  succes- 
sion, and  not  being  quite  as  ambitious  as  Van  Buren  was, 
"to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  his  illustrious  predecessor," 
I  made  the  quickest  kind  of  a  full  stop,  and  for  a  moment 
the  chances  were  decidedly  in  favor  of  my  running  back  to 
the  shore;  but  just  then  the  carpet-bag  containing  our 
ward-robe,  and  which  had  been  strapped  on  the  back  of  our 
guide,  emerged  from  the  hole  in  the  ice,  and  I  immediately 
harpooned  it  with  my  Alpen  stick,  taking  it  for  granted 
that  our  guide  still  formed  a  part  of  that  inestimable  ward- 
robe ;  in  this  I  was  not  mistaken,  and  I  dragged  him  out 
like  a  speared  salmon.  I  did  not  care  about  remarking 
upon  his  appearance,  as  he  stood  catching  his  breath,  but  I 
should  willingly  have  relinquished  half  my  estate  to  the 


212 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


orphan  asylum,  if  I  could  with  propriety  have  laid 
down  and  laughed  to  the  full  extent  of  my  desire.  As 
it  was,  we  sympathized,  over  the  left,"  in  his  misfortune, 
and  I  shall  some  day  go  back  to  that  very  spot  to  have 
my  laugh.  Why  the  fellow  went  down  like  a  pearl  diver. 
T  said  he  never  saw  a  quicker  stop  put  to  conversa- 
tion ;  it  was  positively  abrupt.  I  asked  the  guide  how 
deep  the  lake  was ;  he  said  he  found  no  bottom  as  far  as 
he  went ;  judging  from  the  time  occupied,  he  must  have 
got  as  far  as  human  plummet  ever  sounded.  We  were  not 
slow  in  retracing  our  steps  to  shore  again,  with  a  full  de- 
termination on  all  sides  to  keep  to  the  dry  land.  I  don't 
want  any  De  Soto  burial  up  among  these  mountain  lakes. 
We  were  three  hours  getting  down  to  Andermast.  These 
distances  are  very  deceptive ;  a  village  appears  scarcely  a 
stone's  throw  down  the  mountain,  and  yet  you  are  hours  in 
reaching  it.  The  down-hill  movement  is  more  fatiguing  than 
the  ascent,  especially  when  one  is  too  tired  to  hold  back. 
It  is  like  the  hysterics :  you  get  started  once,  and  on  you 
go,  in  spite  of  aching  bones  and  high-heeled  boots.    I  told 

T  his  heels  would  serve  him  as  a  break,  if  he  would 

put  some  ballast  into  his  breeches.  He  was  just  then  too 
weak  in  the  wind  to  reply,  but  he  gave  me  a  look  which 
nearly  shattered  his  spectacles. 

We  took  a  rest  on  the  brow  of  the  last  hill,  and  then 
j^'Walked  into  the  hotel  here  like  free-born  Americans,  who 
had  just  taken  an  evening  stroll.  If  a  man  cannot  be  a 
hero  in  the  eyes  of  his  valet,  he  can  at  least  assume  an 
insensibility  to  fatigue  in  the  eyes  of  a  tavern-keeper,  and 
that  is  something ;  but  with  me,  heroism  has  considerable 
to  do  with  fried  potatoes,  and  it  was  not  until  I  despatched 
an  indefinite  quantity  of  this  anti-succulent,  that  I  felt  dis- 
posed to  add  my  share  of  gas  to  the  flaming  narrative  with 
which  D  was  indulging  his  own  fancy  and  the  credulity 


"here  we  are!" 


213 


of  a  flaxen-haired  Diilcinea,  who  plays  the  ministering 
angel  here  to  our  mountain  appetite. 

We  take  another  guide  to-morrow.  Our  Harvey  Birch 
is  obliged  to  return  to  Richenau.  He  swears  we  are  the 
most  thorough-paced  pedestrians  that  ever  crossed  the 
"  Ober-Alps."  But  then  I  suspect  his  pay  had  something 
in  connection  with  that  opinion.  However,  there  is  noth- 
ing like  leaving  a  good  character  behind.  It  is  a  nuisance 
here  to  take  it  along  with  you. 


LEAF  XXXV. 

ON  THE  ALPS. 

Chalet  os  the  Grimsel,  June  

"Here  we  are,"  as  the  clown  says  in  the  Circus,  but 
whether  we  will  add  any  thing  more  to  the  performances 
of  this  day,  is  very  questionable.    It  has  just  commenced 

raining  furiously,  and  D  has  pronounced  himself  in  a 

high  fever,  and  "  hors  du  combat"  for  the  next  twenty-four 
hours.  The  idea  of  spending  the  night  on  the  top  of  the 
Grimsel,  with  the  Falls  of  the  Aarr  roaring  in  your  ears 
and  a  pine  board  to  sleep  upon,  is  highly  picturesque,  but 
whether  it  will  turn  out  very  gratifying  depends  somewhat 
upon  the  amount  of  "  Kerchenwasser"  still  left  in  our  flask. 
If  we  cannot  rise  above  them,  why  we  must  drink  our- 
selves down  to  the  circumstances.  T  is  already  making 

that  efl*ort  with  every  appearance  of  success ;  indeed  it  is 
not  very  encouraging.  I  have  just  finished  an  inspection 
of  the  larder,  and  am  positive  that  I  could  eat  through  the 


214 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


"whole  provisionarj  department,  but  the  kind  old  lady  here 
declares  she  can  find  me  as  many  potatoes  as  would  serve 
a  regiment,  and  with  that  consoling  announcement  I  can 
rest  content.  At  this  present  moment  we  present  a  rather 
interesting  picture ;  there  is  the  guide,  half  lost  in  the 
amplitude  of  an  Alpine  fire-place,  pretending  to  assist  the 
"  old  lady"  in  some  frying  arrangement,  but  in  reality  se- 
curing his  own  meal,  for  fear  the  material  should  not  hold 
out.  The  "  old  man"  of  the  chalet  is  busy  in  another 
corner,  working  up  a  series  of  artistic  little  wooden  chamois 
and  Swiss  cottages,  intended  for  certain  kinds  of  paternal 
travellers,  whose  nurseries  haunt  them  even  on  the  top  of 

the  Grimsel — while  D  wrapped  up,  not  in  the  martial 

cloak  of  Sir  John  Moore,  but  in  the  combined  wardrobe  of 
the  whole  party,  is  stretched  out  on  a  bench,  apparently 
meditating  on  his  past  conduct  and  future  reform.  We 
have  promised  to  bury  him  above  the  regions  of  perpetual 
snow,  where  the  devil's  fire  would  go  out  if  he  came  after 

him.    As  for  T  he  might  be  pronounced  half  drunk, 

and  is  endeavoring  to  prevent  a  note  of  that  fact  from 
being  registered  in  my  journal.  And  as  I  am  writing  on 
the  end  of  the  "old  man's"  w^ork  bench,  he  has,  in  this 
efi'ort,  played  the  deuce  with  a  little  wooden  chamois,  which 
he  has  knocked  from  its  elevated  position  on  the  top  of  a 
rock,  into  the  chimney  of  a  Swiss  cottage  with  the  loss  of 
both  the  creature's  hind  legs.  He  shall  pay  for  both  of 
them  before  we  leave.  I  do  hope  it  will  cease  raining, 
otherwise  we  shall  have  to  look  at  the  Falls  of  the  Aarr 
from  under  an  umbrella,  which  might  be  called  taking  that 
single  step  from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous.  The  mules 
have  been  banished.  We  tried  them  for  one  day  only,  in 
our  passage  of  the  Furca  ;  they  are  too  slow ;  we  were 
eight  hours  in  crossing,  though  it  is  by  no  means  a  difficult 
pass,  and  the  fatigue  was  even  greater  than  in  walking,  for 


•the  mountain  expose. 


215 


you  are  exposed  to  a  vertical  sun  and  excessive  close  atmos- 
phere, in  these  narrow  valleys,  and  require  that  buoyancy 
of  spirit  which  walking  gives  to  counteract  the  sense  of 
oppression  you  feel ;  besides  one  seems  much  more  suscep- 
tible to  the  discomfort  of  the  travel,  from  the  listless, 
poking  manner  in  which  these  animals  descend  the  moun- 
tain. I  retained  my  seat  as  far  as  the  glacier  of  the  Rhone, 
and  then  surrendered  my  mule  to  the  guide,  and  led  off  on 

foot ;  T  followed  suit,  and  in  our  descent  to  the  Hos- 

piz  of  St.  Gothard,  we  amused  ourselves  by  sliding  the 
short  cut  on  the  snow  down  the  sides  of  the  lesser  hills  ;  it 
required  some  dexterity  to  steer  clear  of  the  innumerable 
lakes  scattered  about,  as  we  did  not  wish  to  repeat  our  ex- 
perience of  the  Dead  Sea.  At  the  Glacier  of  the  Rhone, 
we  met  an  adventurous  German  woman,  who  was  being 
carried  by  the  guide  in  such  a  peculiar  manner,  that  we 
were  obliged  to  take  in  a  survey  of  her  "  continuations." 
Her  sight  of  the  Glacier  cost  the  same  price  which  the 
"model  artiste"  pays  for  a  living;  but  then  her  audience 
was  select,  and  as  she  was  quite  pretty,  we  felt  disposed  to 
spare  her,  and  not  look  back  too  often,  though  the  self- 
denial  was  tremendous,  as  we  had  not  seen  a  handsome 
face,  much  less  a  pretty  ancle,  for  a  week.  From  the  top 
of  the  Furca,  we  got  our  first  glance  over  the  snowy  crests 
of  the  Bernese  chain.  It  was  not  a  very  favorable  day  ; 
the  mist  kept  "curling  up,"  and  tearing  itself  to  tatters 
against  the  lofty  peak  of  the  Finster-Aarr-Horn,  tantaliz- 
ing us  with  the  promise  of  a  clear  outline  if  we  only  waited 
long  enough  ;  but  I  could  not  recognize  the  delight  of  being 
up  to  your  kne^s  in  snow,  and  gazing  like  a  "natural"  at 
these  "veiled  prophets,"  so  I  promised  to  meet  them  once 
again,  and  turned  my  face  towards  the  Hospiz,  leaving  to 

D          the  task  of  admiration  for  these  glacier-hearted 

monarchs.    We  have  hired  him  to  do  the  exclamatory  part 


216 


WILD  OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


of  the  business.  But  really  these  mountains  are  grand, — 
not  in  the  cockney  sense, — but  sublimely  grand.  As  Amer- 
icans, we  can  afford  to  quiz  their  lakes  and  waterfalls ;  but 
what  can  we  say  to  their  magnificent  mountains  ?  We  crawl 
upon  their  huge  sides,  for  hours  and  hours,  still  toiling  up 
and  upwards  through  mist  and  cloud,  until  the  blue  of 
heaven  seems  just  above  you,  and  the  hue  of  earth  immea- 
surably below,  and  still  you  mount  and  mount,  through 
snow  and  ice,  along  lakes  and  over  torrents,  and  when  you 
think  the  last  icy  barrier  is  scaled — behold  !  a  "  multitudi- 
nous sea"  of  never-surging  caps  spread  out  before  you,  far 
as  the  bewildered  eye  can  range  along  their  eternally  snow- 
clad  summits, — "Pelion  upon  Ossa,"  even  to  the  horizon's 
verge.  The  mountains  of  Switzerland  must  be  seen, — 
your  Panorama  will  not  answer ;  they  must  be  seen  too, 
over  their  tops,  when  bidding  '^good  night"  to  the  setting 
sun.  Your  tourist  who  stands  at  their  base,  opera-glass  in 
hand,  can  positively  affirm  that  he  has  seen  them,  but  it  is 
like  kissing  a  woman  in  a  dream  ;  you  wake,  and  can  barely 
remember  that  you  have  kissed  her  ;  the  real  kiss  you  never 
forget.    But  here  comes  dinner;  would  it  were  a  mountain. 

Meyringen,  June  20. 
"  Richard's  himself  again."    We  have  had  a  delightful 
day  ;  all  our  obstacles  are  now  removed.    We  surmounted 

the  last,  viz.  :  T  's  boot  heels,  in  this  very  village,  and, 

like  other  conquerors,  we  should  erect  a  pillar  to  comme- 
morate the  circumstance.  The  fact  is,  these  boot  heels,  on 
the  second  day  out,  began  to  resemble  small  specimens  of 
the  leaning  Tower  of  Pisa,  and  I  recommended  instant  de- 
capitation, but  the  self-will  of  T  was  proof  against  all 

my  assaults,  to  say  nothing  of  the  inconvenience  to  him- 
self, until  finally,  in  attempting  to  hold  back  on  one  of  the 
Rtcep  grades  of  the  Grimsel,  the  "  towers"  gave  a  twist, 


THE  "last  rose  OF  SUMMER." 


217 


and  away  went  T  ,  heels  and  all,  to  the  bottom  of  the 

hill.  He  was  whistling  the  "Last  Rose  of  Summer"  when 
he  started  in  this  ^'down  train,"  but  the  rapidity  of  his 
movement  interrupted  the  melody,  and  I  expressed  my 
surprise  that  he  did  not  throw  one  of  the  bars  of  that 
music  across  his  course.  He  promised  if  his  "gay  com- 
panions" would  only  stop,  the  "heels"  should  be  sacrificed 
at  the  next  village. 


LEAF  XXXVI. 

MOUNTAIN  SIGHTS  AND  INCIDENTS. 

IXTERLACKEN,  Juiie  22. 

I  AM  getting  heartily  tired  of  Switzerland.  It  is  a 
tread-mill  country — up-hill  all  the  time ;  with  the  same 
objects,  under  different  names,  staring  you  in  the  face. 
Yesterday  it  was  the  Wetterhorn — to-day  it  is  the  Jung- 
frau — and  to-morrow  it  will  be  some  other  "frau'*  or 
"horn,"  though  they  might  each  pass  for  the  other  as  for 
any  difference  that  I  can  detect  in  their  physiognomy. 
The  Great  Scheidek,  or  Shylock  as  we  christened  it, — for 

it  exacted  more  than  a  "  pound  of  flesh"  from  D  ,  is 

decidedly  the  most  fatiguing  pass  w^e  have  yet  crossed. 
Perhaps  it  w^as  owing  to  its  being  more  frequented,  and  one 
meeting,  consequently,  more  annoyances  on  the  road.  We 
could  scarcely  go  a  mile  without  encountering  some  scenic 
humbug,  got  up  apparently  for  our  especial  benefit,  and 
which  you  feel  disposed  to  put  a  stop  to  at  any  price.  As 
there  is  only  one  path,  you  are  obliged  to  play  the  "  good 
Samaritan,"  and  dress  the  wound  with  a  balsam  of  "batz," 

19 


218 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


or  tumble  down  the  precipice  in  trying  to  avoid  the  beg 
garly  infliction.  The  first  assault  we  had  took  the  shape 
of  a  "cow-boy,"  or,  picturesquely  speaking,  a  "peasant," 
with  a  "horn"  long  enough  to  serve  for  an  aqueduct. 
Vfe  dubbed  him  at  once  the  "Professor  of  the  Alpine 
Horn."  He  took  up  a  position  immediately  in  our  way, 
and  resting  one  end  of  the  wooden  "nozzle"  on  a  rock, 
prepared  for  a  blast.  I  begged  him  to  turn  the  mouth  of 
the  "  machine"  in  another  direction,  or  he  would  blow  us 
down  the  gorge  of  the  mountain.    "Let  her  rip!"  says 

T  ,  and  the  Professor  poured  himself  into  the  tube. 

Whether  the  proximity  was  too  close  to  enjoy  the  music,  I 
cannot  say — but  I  never  heard  worse  melody  in  my  life. 
He  gave  us  what  he  probably  called  a  "fantasia,"  but  a 
Durham  bull  could  have  taken  the  conceit  out  of  him  with 
one  single  quaver  of  his  bellow.  Poetry  has  much  to 
answer  for.  This  poor  devil  flatters  himself  that  he  makes 
the  hills  vocal  with  his  windy  diapason — whereas,  if  "  old 
Pan,"  or  any  other  heathen  divinity,  had  survived  the 
birth  of  Christ,  they  would  have  flayed  him  alive.  Good 
gracious !  could  it  have  been  such  a  blast  as  that  the 
Paladin  once  blew  in  Roncevalles  ! 

We  had  scarcely  recovered  from  this  attack,  beforp  I 
discovered  another  ambush.  We  were  mounting  a  narrow 
ledge  of  rock  at  the  base  of  the  Eigher,  and  just  as  we 
made  a  turn  in  the  road,  we  detected  a  fellow,  match  in 
hand,  ready  to  discharge  what  might  be  called  "  child's 
ordnance,"  a  piece  of  gun  barrel  on  wheels.  We  hailed 
this  specimen  of  mounted  artillery,  and  told  him  we  only 
wanted  one  franc's  worth  of  salvo.  He  said  that  would 
hardly  pay  for  the  powder.  The  "infernal  machine"  was 
charged  to  the  very  mouth,  and  I  was  delighted  to  escape 
from  the  chances  of  a  fragmentary  episode  of  iron  being 
driven  into  my  head.    But  I  reckoned  without  my  host : 


WAKING  THE  ECHOES. 


219 


even  a  franc  was  good  payment  for  stirring  up  the  mountain 
echoes  with  gunpowder — so  the  villain  fired  his  "petard" 
within  a  foot  of  us,  and  jumped  behind  a  rock  to  escape  the 
threatened  explosion.    Fiz — fiz — went  the  priming,  and 

down  went  T  and  myself,  like  learned  pundits  to  the 

earth.    I  did  not  see  what  became  of  D  ,  but  neither 

of  us  heard  any  other  echo  but  that  of  our  own  hearts.  I 

kicked  the  venerable  gentleman's  cannon  in  the  breeches, 

and  told  him  either  to  give  up  the  profession,  or  load  like 
a  sane  man,  and  not  attempt  to  rival  the  thunder  with  a 
gun-barrel.  AVhat  could  Byron  say  to  such  a  fellow  call- 
ing upon  "Jura  to  answer  from  her  misty  shroud?" 

But  we  were  not  done  yet.  In  our  descent  from  the 
Great  Scheidek  to  Grundewald,  we  had  to  encounter  three 
damsels — not  with  deep  blue  eyes,  but  "clarion  voices," 
ranged  under  a  tree,  prepared  to  salute  us  with  a  "yudle." 
Of  all  inflictions,  this  is  the  greatest.  I  was  completely 
overcome  at  this  fresh  annoyance,  and  throwing  myself, 
literally,  upon  a  bed  of  violets,  cried  out,  satirically — "  If 
music  be  the  food  of  love,  play  on."  They  took  me  at  my 
word,  and  commenced  the  "mountain  refrain"  with  an 
energy  of  voice  that  might  have  unroofed  any  thing  short 
of  the  deep  blue  sky  above  us.  But  my  heart  was  far 
away.  I  had  looked  up  at  that  blue  sky,  and,  like  the 
''Dying  Gladiator,"  my  thoughts  went  back  to  those  other 
hills  it  shadowed  in  its  course,  where  loved  ones  were,  and 
"  yoodles"  were  not,  and  I  hoped  they  never  would  be. 
Nature's  voice  is  the  only  thing  bearable  among  these 
mountains. 

At  Grundewald  we  found  a  specimen  of  those  princes 
whose  principalities  extend  the  area  of  a  Lancaster  county 
wheat  field.  His  accessories  were  complete,  but  in  a  small 
way.  He  had  his  own  secretary  and  his  own  segars — 
both  treated  alike — used  to  the  last  extremity.  The 


220 


^riLD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


secretary  had  the  appearance  of  a  caught  rat,  to  whom  the 
worst  of  cheese  had  been  a  too  attractive  bait,  and  whose 
glistening  eyes  are  constantly  scanning  the  wires  of  his 
trap.  He  was  proudly  prudent,  too — his  scanty  allowance 
of  one  glass  of  Champagne  from  the  Prince's  pint  bottle 
was  left  untouched,  until  the  Prince  made  a  motion  to  rise 
from  table,  when  our  secretary  gulphed  it  down  at  a  single 
swallow,  like  an  intensely  thirsty  man.  If  the  rest  of  his 
perquisites  have  the  same  degree  of  vastness,  he  holds  a 
fat  office.  The  Prince  was  a  sombre  man,  and  looked  as 
though  the  destiny  which  made  him  master  of  one  secretary 
and  a  small  box  of  segars  was  too  overpowering  for  mortal 
to  bear  up  under.    Any  romantic  young  lady  might  have 

detected  a  shade  of  melancholy  in  all  this — but  D  

attributed  it  to  a  robbing  of  his  exchequer  by  the  sale  of 

two  segars,  which  the  said  D  had  induced  the  gargon 

of  the  house  to  dispose  of  to  him,  and  which  sale  the  Prince 
had  unfortunately  discovered.  The  segars  were  really 
smoked  in  the  presence  of  the  Prince,  and  he  doubtless 
felt  that  every  whiff  was  tainted  with  the  bribery  and 
corruption  of  his  whole  household  and  principality.  Alas  ! 
poor  Prince !  It  is  truly  lamentable  to  see  with  what 
indifference  an  American  takes  an  emperor's  snuff  or  a 

prince's  segars,    D  pronounced  them  real  principes. 

From  Grundewald  we  had  a  pleasant  time  over  the 
Wengen  Alps.  The  weather  was  particularly  fine,  and  we 
loafed  for  several  hours  at  the  chalet  on  the  top  of  the 
pass,  watching  for  avalanches.  The  sun  was  very  warm, 
and  "the  guide  assured  us  that  if  we  would  remain  until 
noon,  its  rays  would  certainly  unloosen  an  avalanche  or 
two.  It  seemed  rather  ludicrous  to  be  compelled  to  keep 
a  looking  out  for  an  avalanche.  My  idea  of  such  an  article, 
taken,  I  admit,  from  a  picture  in  some  primitive  geography 
book,  was  a  huge  ball  of  snow,  with  men,  women  and 


WATCHING  AN  AVALANCHE. 


221 


villages  struggling  to  get  out.  I  watched  the  side  of  the 
Jungfrau  until  I  fell  asleep  on  a  stray  carpet  bag,  with  a 
coronet  worked  in  it,  and  neither  saw  nor  heard  of  these 

Alpine  playthings.    T  declares  he  never  lost  sight  of 

the  mountain  for  a  moment,  and  the  only  approximation  to 
an  avalanche  was  a  fat  Dutch  woman,  that  got  between 

hira  and  the  sun.    D  ,  on  the  other  hand,  swears  to 

having  seen  at  least  two,  and  pronounces  them  no  great 
shakes :  has  seen  more  fuss  made  by  one  snow  slide  from 
a  barn  roof — they  made  just  about  as  much  noise ;  but  the 
fact  is,  these  gentlemen  are  highly  prejudiced  against  any 
Switzer  entertainment.  There  must  be  something  grand 
in  the  fall  of  an  avalanche — but  not  seen  from  that  dis- 
tance. The  terror  of  danger  is  wanting,  and  the  roar  is 
not  sufficiently  distinct.  It  will  be  a  capital  subject  to 
gas  about  when  we  get  home,  and  I  have  no  doubt  full 
justice  will  be  done  to  the  size,  noise  and  confusion  of  the 
whole  race  of  avalanches. 

We  came  from  Lauterbrunnen  to  this  place  in  a  "  chair 
a  banc,"  as  there  is  a  fine  stretch  of  level  country  all  the 
way,  and  nothing  wonderful  to  be  encountered  on  the  road. 
The  waterfall  at  Lauterbrunnen  is  a  mere  thread  of  spray, 
and  the  celebrated  Falls  of  Reichenbach,  which  we  had  to 
pay  to  look  at,  are  not  worth  the  walk  across  the  meadow. 
The  descent  into  the  valley  of  Lauterbrunnen  settled  the 
long-vexed  question  of  whether  up-hill  or  down-hill  was 

preferable.     T  ,  as  the  champion  of  the  down-hill 

movement  being  the  least  fatiguing,  was  obliged  to  sur- 
render his  point,  for  there  was  no  defending  against 
nausea  of  the  stomach  which  it  certainly  did  create  in  that 
unfortunate  man.  He  died  hard,  even  going  so  far  as  to 
attribute  the  nausea  to  the  loss  of  his  boot  heels  at  Mey- 
ringen.  The  hotel  here  is  full  of  English.  They  alFect 
Interlacken  very  much,  on  account  of  its  proximity  to  the 

19* 


222 


1 

WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


Falls  of  Giesbach,  and  the  Wengen  Alps,  which  is  a  par* 
of  their  religion  to  see. 

Thus  far,  we  have  mostly  taken  the  more  difl5cult  and 
unfrequented  paths,  and  have  not  fallen  in  with  the  crowd 
of  sketching  tourists,  who  infest  the  lakes,  and  take  rapid 
outlines  of  sundry  peaks  supposed  to  be  seen  by  sunrise ; 
but  we  are  pressing  upon  their  heels  now,  and  there  is  a 
sketchy-looking  gentleman  at  this  moment  eyeing  the 
Jungfrau  out  of  a  window  opposite  to  mine,  with  that 
determined  kind  of  Mahometan  gaze  which  an  amateur 
artist  always  bestows  upon  the  natural  "tit-bits"  of  crea- 
tion. He  deems  himself  born  to  carry  off  the  "Jungfrau" 
on  the  point  of  his  pencil.  His  wife,  or  sister,  or  some- 
thing, is  at  the  other  window,  either  reading  Murray  or 
peeping  over  the  edge  of  it  at  the  tom-foolery  of  a  cockney 
and  a  governess  on  the  lawn.  T   reports  the  govern- 
ess as  having  a  cast  in  her  eye :  but  this  may  be  owing 
to  a  cast-off  which  he  received  from  said  governess  when 
she  noticed  the  tender  rivalry  of  the  Bond  street  man. 
He  denies  the  impeachment,  but  I  can  take  an  affidavit 
of  the  fact,  for  I  saw  the  whole  manoeuvre,  and  noticed  him 
fly  to  the  consolation  of  a  segar. 

LEAF  XXXVII. 

THE  VALLEY  OF  CHAMOUNIX. 

Chamounix,  June  27. 
We  are  in  the  Vale  of  Chamounix — the  grand  climax  to 
all  Alpine  aspirations.    Poets  have  breathed  prayers  over 
it,  and  peasants  have  made  its  evening  hymn  immortal. 
Let  the  whole  world  come  and  look  at  it,  and  be  silent,  for 


A  BEAUTIFUL  INCIDENT. 


223 


it  is  a  temple  worthy  of  the  Eternal.  Here  closes  our 
pilgrimage  of  the  mountain  passes.  The  cities  and  lakes 
are  yet  to  be  seen,  but  they  are  accessible  to  char  si  bancs 
and  steamers.  Our  trip  on  the  Lake  of  Brientz  was  quite 
a  relief,  after  strolling  so  long  up  and  down  hill.  They 
did  not  give  us  sufficient  time  to  examine  the  Falls  of  Geis- 
bach :  but  they  looked  pretty  enough  from  below,  with  their 
margin  of  green  meadow.  We  returned  the  same  day  to 
Interiacken,  and  next  morning  started  for  Kandersty,  in 
order  to  cross  the  Gemmi.  We  were  eight  hours  in  getting 
over,  but  we  loitered  on  the  way  to  admire  the  magnificent 
scenery  on  every  side  of  us.  It  is,  beyond  question,  the 
finest,  but  at  the  same  time  the  most  difficult  pass  we  have 
encountered.  During  the  first  part  of  the  ascent,  after 
you  leave  Kandersty,  you  must  climb,  as  best  you  can,  for 
hours  over  innumerable  roots  of  trees  interlacing  the  path 
in  every  direction,  and  when  you  have  surmounted  this 
difficulty,  your  route  crosses  for  miles  the  debris  which  has 
fallen  from  the  Kinder  Horn,  and  which  almost  chokes  up 
the  pathway,  until  you  reach  the  lake,  near  the  top  of  the 
pass.  Here  you  find  plenty  of  snow  and  ice,  which  you 
are  obliged  to  wade  through,  when  you  finally  arrive  at  the 
culminating  point,  some  8000  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
sea.  The  summit  is  one  mass  of  barren  limestone  rocks, 
^nd  has  an  exceedingly  desolate  appearance,  but  the  view 
is  superb.  Mount  Rosa  is  the  striking  feature  of  the  chain. 
Seen,  as  we  saw  it,  I  prefer  it  to  Mont  Blanc ;  the  outline 
was  very  distinct :  not  a  cloud  to  obstruct  a  single  feature 
of  its  colossal  proportions ;  it  rose  high  above  the  surround- 
ing peaks,  and  while  they  had  already  taken  the  shadow 
of  evening  upon  their  brows,  it  still  reflected  back  the  last 
roys  of  the  sinking  sun,  like  a  true  friend  among  parasites, 
answering  the  dying  gaze  of  her  monarch,  with  a  lustre 
dazzling  as  his  own  imperial  purple.    We  sat  down  upon 


224 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


the  rock,  and  watched  the  last  golden  beam  as  it  crept  to 
the  utmost  peak  of  Rosa,  and  then  glided  into  heaven. 
The  sight  was  beautiful ;  it  resembled  love — love  that 
lingers  last  when  you  are  above  and  beyond  earth's  passions 
and  its  mockeries ;  a  love  before  fruition ;  love  as  we  saw 
it  that  day  in  the  eyes  of  a  young  peasant  girl,  who  was 
waving  her  handkerchief,  in  final  adieu  to  her  lover,  far 
down  the  mountain,  on  his  way  to  that  sink  of  iniquity, 
Paris.  He  was  probably  to  return,  or  she  was  to  join  him 
there ;  be  that  as  it  may,  she  might  never  see  him  more  ; 
but  such  a  gaze  as  that  poor  girl  cast  along  that  rugged 
defile,  I  had  never  witnessed  ;  she  seemed  to  throw  her 
very  soul  in  sighs  after  him  ;  in  vain  her  mother  plucked 
her  by  the  sleeve ;  in  vain  did  we  saunter  by,  and  attempt 
to  attract  her  notice ;  there  she  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
path,  entranced.  There  was  that  half  smile  of  anguish  on 
her  lips,  and  in  her  eye :  that  tearful  brilliancy  which 
shamed  even  the  rich  glory  on  Mount  Rosa.  It  was  not 
the  sorrow  of  desertion,  and  yet  she  had  a  hopeless  look ; 
nor  was  the  pang  of  parting  too  evident  on  her  girlish  face : 
but  it  was  a  blending  of  all  feelings  with  nothing  predomi- 
nant, but  that  full,  wild,  wistful,  worshipful  intensity  of 
gaze  that  made  me  envy  the  mortal  who  could  awaken  it, 
and  adore  the  woman  who  possessed  it.  But  what  was  our 
admiration  to  her  ?  Her  soul  was  in  that  russet  jacket, 
far  down  the  mountain.  The  wooing  of  a  king,  with  pro- 
vinces for  a  dowry,  would  have  found  no  approval  in  her 
widowed  smile.  Yes,  she  resembled  the  sunset  on  Mount 
Rosa.  She,  too,  was  wrapped  in  the  radiance  of  a  parting 
glory ;  she,  too,  reflected  it  back  upon  its  giver,  with  all 
the  glow  and  adoration  of  a  pure  and  unstained  bosom,  and 
from  thence  it  doubtless  passed  to  heaven  ;  for  with  all  that 

T  and  myself  could  do,  it  tarried  not  on  earth  for  us. 

When  the  mountaineer  was  out  of  sight,  the  vision  too  was 
gone. 


A  SHOT  WITH  THE  "  LOXG  BOW."  225 


The  descent  from  the  Gemmi  to  the  Baths  of  Leuk  is 
almost  perpendicular,  and  the  timid  traveller,  trusting  to 
his  mule,  is  advised  to  have  his  ejes  blindfolded ;  we  saw 
no  occasion  for  such  precaution ;  the  zigzag  terraces  in  the 
rock  are  sufficiently  wide  for  passing,  and  have  parapets 
throughout  the  whole  length,  so  that  it  would  be  difficult  to 
fall  over  the  precipice,  even  if  you  tried  to  do  so.  It  was 
only  here  and  there  that  you  could  find  the  parapet  suffi- 
ciently low  to  get  a  good  look  into  the  abyss  beneath.  It 
was  frightful !  The  lateness  of  the  hour  served  to  add  to 
the  gloom  and  desolation  of  the  scene. 

We  had  lingered  so  long  on  the  Pass,  that  the  candles 
were  lit  before  we  reached  the  Baths  of  Leuk.  Our  guide 
did  not  get  in  until  10  o'clock.  He  had  been  obliged  to 
take  a  rest,  and  we  travelled  the  greater  part  of  the  descent 

on  our  own  hook."  Indeed,  in  traversing  these  passes, 
a  guide  is  quite  unnecessary,  without  you  have  baggage  to 
carry,  and  then  he  is  an  essential  feature,  as  it  is  labor 
enough  to  carry  yourself  over,  without  being  strapped  to  a 
portmanteau,  or  some  other  receptacle  of  linen. 

From  the  Baths  of  Leuk  we  struck  the  Simplon  Road, 
and  posted  to  Martigny.  From  there  to  this  point  you 
have  two  routes  to  choose  from,  the  Tete  Noir  and  the 
Col  de  Balm.  We  selected  the  latter,  as  it  gave  us  the 
best  view  of  Mont  Blanc.  It  is  a  tedious  pass,  and  the 
wind  was  so  strong,  and  the  air  so  rarified  that  we  were  in 

danger  of  breaking  a  blood-vessel.    D  and  myself  did 

nothing  but  cough  from  the  moment  we  crossed  the  summit 
until  we  reached  the  valley  of  Chamouni.  It  was  the  only 
time  we  suffered  from  this  cause,  but  it  was  rather  a 
severer  test  than  I  desire  my  lungs  to  undergo.  It  spoiled 
my  first  view  of  Mont  Blanc. 

We  yesterday  made  an  excursion  to  the  Montanvert,  and  ' 
returned  completely  drenched.    As  our  wardrobe  is  on  its 


226 


WILD   OATS,  SOWN  ABROAD. 


"way  to  Geneva,  we  were  compelled  to  make  our  appearance 
at  the  Table  d'Hote  in  what  might  be  called  demi-toilette, 
for  the  more  substantial  portions  of  our  dress  were  drying 
at  the  kitchen  fire.  Had  the  young  lady  opposite  to  me  at 
table  known  in  what  close  proximity  she  was  to  a  "  sana 
culotte,"  it  would  have  made  the  aristocratic  blood  tingle 
in  her  veins.  As  a  matter  of  necessity,  we  came  first, 
and  remained  last  at  the  banquet.  We  opened  a  counter- 
blast to  an  Englishman,  who  was  narrating  various  terrible 
elephant  stories  in  India,  by  a  fictitious  account  of  a  cele- 
brated hunt  of  the  "wizard  weasel"  on  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

T  quietly  corroborated  all  I  said,  and  as  he  wears 

glasses  and  talks  sententiously,  he  has  all  the  appearance  of 
a  savan,  and  consequently  added  considerable  weight  to  the 
otherwise  improbable  account  of  this  animal.  I  think  we 
gave  a  Roland  for  an  Oliver;  and  I  expect  to  see  the 
"  wizard  weasel"  flourish  in  some  forthcoming  note  of  Gold- 
smith's animated  nature. 

I  have  tried  several  times  since  our  arrival  here,  to  get 
a  good  look  at  the  topmost  peak  of  Mont  Blanc,  but  there 
seems  to  be  an  endless  succession  of  light  clouds  floating 
around  it,  and  I  have  no  disposition  to  loaf  in  this  valley 
until  the  monarch  thinks  proper  to  dofl"  his  feathery  cap. 
The  fact  is,  I  begin  to  weary  of  these  eternal  mountains, 
with  their  snow  and  glaciers — their  torrents  and  their 
avalanches.  The  are  like  some  water-cure  establishment 
on  a  large  scale.  You  are  alternately  wet  and  dry — cold 
and  hot;  and  the  balance  of  the  time  is  consumed  in 
"walking"  up  hill.  The  efficacy  of  the  treatment  is  shown 
in  the  enormous  quantity  you  eat,  and  the  dead,  dreamless 
character  of  your  slumber.  If  I  stay  here  much  longer,  I 
shall  become  distressingly  healthy,  and  where  then  will  be 
the  excuse  for  revisiting  the  many  spots  I  have  left  un- 
laughed  over  ? 


MT.  BLANC  AND  A  FULL  STOP. 


227 


I  By  the  way,  it  strikes  me  that  I  have  consumed  enough 
of  paper,  and  crammed  a  sufficient  amount  of  nonsense 
into  these  Leaves  to  make  a  pause ;  besides,  I  have  too 
great  a  respect  for  Mont  Blanc  to  introduce  a  description 
so  near  the  end  of  my  Blank  Book.  Fanny  Kemble  closed 
with  Niagara  j  I  will  make  a  full  stop  with  Mt.  Blanc. 


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THE  ORPHAN  NIECE.  THE  PRINCE  AND 
KATE  WALSINGHAM.  THE  PEDLER. 

THE  POOR  COUSIN.  THE  MERCHANT'S 
ELLEN  WAREHAM.  DAUGHTER. 

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WHO  SHALL  BE  HEIR.  NAN  DARRELL. 

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JAPIIET  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  FATHER. 

the  phanto.ii  ship. 
midship:>ian  easy, 
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the  king's  ow.\. 

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THE  DIVORCED  VTIJ^E. 
THE  BANKER'S  WIFE. 
PRIDE  AND  PRUDENCE. 
CECILIA  HOWARD. 
THE  BROKEN  PROMISE. 
LOVE  IN  A  COTTAGE. 
LOVE  IN  HIGH  LIFE. 
THE  TAVO  MERCHANTS. 


THE  ORPHAN  CHILDREN. 

THE  DEBTOR'S  DAUGHTER. 

INSUBORDINATION. 

LT'CY  SANDFORD. 

AGNES,  ov  the  Poss^eseed. 

THE  TAVO  BRIDES. 

THE  IRO\  HAND. 

OLD  ASTROLOGER.  9 


T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS.  3 


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THE  GIPSY'S  DAUGHTER. 

THE  BELIiE  OF  THE  FAMIIiY. 

SYBIIi  LiEcViVARD.    A  Record  of  Woman's  lilfc. 

THE  DUKE  AND  THE  COUSIN. 

THE  lilTTIiE  WIFE. 

THE  MANOEUVRING  MOTHER. 

L.ENA  CAMERON,  or  tlie  Four  Sisters* 

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ALEXANDER  DUMAS^  WORKS. 

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4      T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS. 


CHARLES  LEVER'S  NOVELS. 

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Mysteries  of  the  Court  of  •Q,ueen.Anne.  By  William  Harrison  Ains- 
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illustrated  with  Fifteen  Engravings.    252  pages.   Price  Fifty  cents. 


T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS.  5 


GEORGE  LIPPARD'S  WORKS. 

Wasliington  and  His  Generals;  or,  Legends  of  the  American  Revolution. 

Complete  in  two  large  oc  tavo  volumes  of  538  pages,  printed  on  the  finest  white  paper. 
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Tlie  Q,uaker  City;  or  tlie  Monks  of  Monk  Hall.  A  Romance  of  Phi- 
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plete in  two  large  octavo  volumes  of  500  pages.  Price  for  the  entire  work,  One  Dollar. 

Tlie  Iiatlye  of  Albarone;  or  tlie  Poison  Goblet.  A  Romance  of  the 
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Price  Fifty  cents. 

Paul  Ardenlieim;  the  Monk  of  Wissahikon.  A  Romance  of  the  Revolution. 
Illustrated  with  numerous  engravings.  Complete  in  two  large  octavo  volumes,  of 
nearly  tJOO  pages.   Price  One  Dollar, 

Blancbe  of  Brandywinc  ;  or  September  tlte  Eleventh,  1777. 

A  Romance  of  the  Poetry,  Legends,  and  History  of  the  Battle  of  Brandywine.  It 
makes  a  large  octavo  volume  of  350  pages,  printed  from  new  type,  and  on  the  finest 
•white  paper.   Price  for  the  complete  work,  75  cents. 

liegends  of  Mexico:  oi*  Battles  of  General  Zacbary  Taylor, 

late  President  of  the  United  States.  Complete  in  one  octavo  volume  of  128  pages. 
Pi'ice  25  cents, 

Tlie  IVazarene;  or  tbe  Last  of  tlie  Wasliingtons.  A  Revelation  ol 
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Price  50  cents. 

Bel  of  Prairie  Eden.   A  Romance  of  Mexico.   Price  25  cents. 

Professor  LIEBIG'S  Works  on  Chemistry. 

Agricultural  Cbemistry.  Chemistry  in  its  application  to  Agriculture  and 
Physiology.   135  pages.    Price  25  cents. 

Animal  Cbemistry.  Chemistry  in  its  application  to  Physiology  and  Pathology 
111  pages.    Price  25  cents. 

Familiar  I^etters  on  Cliemistry,  audits  relations  to  Commerce,  Physiology 
and  Agriculture. 

Tbe  Potato  Disease.  Researches  into  the  motion  of  the  Juices  in  the  Animal 
Body. 

Cbemistry  and  Pbysics  in  Relation  to  Physiology  and  Pa- 
thology. 

T.  B.  PETERSON  also  publishes  a  complete  edition  of  Professor  Liebig's  works 
on  Clieniistry,  comiirising  the  whole  of  the  above.  They  are  bound  in  one  large  royal 
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FRENCH,  GERMAN,  SPANISH,  LATIN  &  ITALIAN  LANGUAGES. 

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S2>ealc,  read  or  write  either  language,-  at  their  will  and  pleasure. 

Spanish  Without  a  Master.   In  Four  Ea.«:y  Lessons. 

French  AVitliont  a  Master.   In  Six  Easy  Lessons 

Italian  "Withont  a  Master.    In  Five  Easy  Lessons. 

German  AVithont  a  Master.   In  Six  Easy  Lessons. 
Liatin  Witliont  a  Master.    In  Six  Easy  Lessons. 

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four  cents  each. 


6      T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS. 


B.  DISRAELI'S  NOVELS. 

Vivian  Grey.  By  B.  D'Israeli,  M.  P.  Complete  in  one  large  octayo  yolume  of  225 
pages.    Price  I'ifty  cents. 

Tlie  Young  Duke  :  or  the  Younger  Days  of  George  the  Fourth.  By  B.  D'Israeli, 
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Henrietta  Temple.   A  Lore  Story.   By  B.  D'Israeli,  M.  P.  One  yolume,  octavo, 

of  loS  pages.    Price  25  cents. 

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T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS.  7 


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8      T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OE  PUBLICATIONS. 


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T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS.  9 


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reader's  ideas  of  poetical  justice.  Wo  would  add  a  few  words  of  praise  for  the  excellent 
style  in  which  this  book  is  gotten  up.  It  is  well  printed  on  good  paper,  and  bound  in  a 
manner  to  correspond  with  the  quality  of  its  typography."— /lrt/t;w's  Home  Gazette. 

"  This  is  the  best  of  Mr.  Bennett's  books.  It  is  a  brilliant  and  thrilling  production, 
and  will  particularly  interest  all  who  love  to  read  of  life  in  the  West  and  South- West. 
A  love  story  runs  through  the  volume,  lending  grace  and  finish  to  it.  Mr.  Peterson  has 
issued  the  book  in  very  handsome  style;  the  type  is  new  and  of  honest  size,  the  binding 
is  strong  and  pretty,  the  paper  is  firm  and  white,  and  the  embellishments  are  eminently 
creditable.    Clara  Moreland  should  command  a  large  sale." — Philadelphia  City  Item. 

"  On  looking  more  carefully  through  this  racy,  spirited  narrative  of  thrilling  scenes 
and  well-told  adventures,  we  meet  with  beauties  that  escape  a  casual  observation.  Mr. 
Bennett  is  a  keen  discoverer  of  character,  and  paints  his  portraits  so  true  to  nature  as 
to  carry  the  reader  with  him  through  all  his  wild  wanderings  and  with  unabated 
interest.  The  author  of  '  Clara  Moreland'  takes  rank  among  the  most  popular  Ameri- 
can novelists,  and  aided  by  the  great  energy  of  his  pubhsher  is  fast  becoming  a  general 
favorite." — McMuckin's  Model  Scdurday  Couiner. 

"  Emerson  Bennett  has  written  some  very  creditable  productions.  This  is  one  of  his 
longest,  and  is  well  received.  Mr.  Uennett  is  a  favorite  author  with  Western  readers. 
It  is  illustrated  and  well  pi-inted." — PhiUdelphia  Dollar  Newspaper. 

"  It  is  a  tale  of  wild  border  life  and  exciting  incident,  bustle,  and  turmoil." — Phila- 
delphia North  American. 

"  Mr.  Bennett  is,  in  some  measure,  a  new  man  in  this  section  of  the  viniverse,  and,  as 
such,  our  reading  public  are  bound  to  give  him  a  cordial  greeting,  not  only  for  this,  but 
for  the  sake  of  th.at  wide-spread  popularity  which  he  has  achieved  in  the  mighty  West, 
and  more  especially  lor  the  intrinsic  excellence  that  distinguishes  his  glowing,  brilliant 
productions,  of  which  ' Clara  Moreland'  may  be  pronounced  the  hest."— Philadelphia 
Saturday  Courier. 

'•This  work  is  of  the  most  exciting  character,  and  will  be  enjoyed  by  all  who  have  a 
cultivated  taste." — BjUimore  Sun. 

'•  The  scene  of  this  interesting  Romance  lies  in  Texas  before  or  during  the  late  war 
j  with  Mexico.  It  is  written  with  a  great  deal  of  spirit ;  it  abounds  in  stirring  incidents 
'  and  adventures,  has  a  good  love-plot  interwoven  with  it,  and  is  in  many  respects  a 
faithful  representation  of  Life  in  the  Far  South- West.  IMr.  Bennett  is  destined  to  great 
popularity,  especially  at  the  South  and  West.  His  publisher  has  issued  this  book  in  a 
very  handsome  style." — Philadelphia  Evening  Bulletin. 

"This  is  a  tlirilling  story  of  frontier  life,  full  of  incident,  and  graphically  sketched. 
It  is  published  in  a  good  stylo." — Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

"  This  is  a  spirited  narrative  of  stirring  scenes,  by  Emerson  Bennett.  Those  who  love 
daring  adventure  and  hair-breadth  escapes  will  find  it  an  engaging  book." — Detroit, 
Mich.,  Pdper. 

"It  is  a  thrilling  narrative  of  South-Western  adventure,  Illustrated  by  numerous 
evgravings." — Detroit,  Mich.,  Paper. 

"  It  is  a  wocdrous  story  of  thrilling  adventiares  and  hair-brcadth  escapes,  the  scene 
of  v.'hich  is  laid  in  the  South-AVcst.  The  book  is  illustrated  with  engravings  represent- 
ing some  of  the  exciting  events  narrated  by  the  writer." — Detroit,  Mich.,  Paper. 

"  It  is  a  work  repliite  with  stirring  adventure.  Romance,  incident,  and  accident,  are 
blended  together  so  as  to  form  a  highly  interesting  work  of  334  pages." — New  York 
Pccayune, 


Published  and  for  sale  by  T.  B.  PETERSON", 

No.  98  Cliestniit  Street,  Pliiladelplila. 


Copies  will  be  sent  to  any  one,  free  of  postage,  on  receipt  of  remittances. 


jB^Read  the  Notices  of  the  Press  Below.-^ 


THE 


Price  One  Dollar  in  Cloth,  Gilt;  or  Fifty  Cents  in  Paper  Cover. 


READ  TEE  OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS  BELOW. 

«  A  most  interesting  novel.  Has  received  the  highest  encomiums."— J5r£fisA  ybrth 
American  (Halifax,  N.  S.) 

"  Occupies  in  literature  the  same  position  as  the  Compromise  measures  in  legislation." 
Zion's  Advocate  (Me.) 

« A  story  full  of  interest.  Will  meet  with  an  extensive  circulation."— Geor^refottm 

(D.  C.)  Advocate. 

"  We  predict  for  it  the  full  approbation  of  the  literary  and  reading  public."— iVoriA 

Carolina  Whig. 

"  A  thrilling  story.  Eminently  worthy  the  support  of  all  who  love  'truth  for  truth's 
sake.' " — Standard  (Cassville,  Ga.) 

"  The  relation  between  master  and  slave,  at  least  in  Virginia,  ia  truly  described. 
Had  we  not  the  work  we  should  buy  it." — Fairmount  Virginian. 

"  Gives  the  truth  as  it  is.  The  story  is  of  deep  interest,  and  contains  many  thrilling 
8cenf«.    Simply  as  a  romance  must  command  high  praise." — Baltimore  Patriot, 

"  The  author  seems  less  anxious  for  the  eclat  of  a  great  run,  than  for  the  reputation 
of  candor  and  veracity."— i?oc7iesfer  (N.  Y.)  Advertiser. 

"Written  to  furnish  correct  views  of  slavery,  and  prevent  premature  action  impe* 
ding  the  cause  of  humanity." — Baltimore  Advertiser. 

"  Though  opposed  generally  to  works  of  fiction,  we  think  this  a  story  calculated  to  do 
good." — Southern  Baptist  Messenger. 

"  Replete  with  incidents  of  thrilling  interest.  Well  conceived,  ably  narrated,  amd 
contains  scenes  of  great  dramatic  power." — Christian  Observer. 

"  It  is  not  a  narrow  sectional  affair.  While  it  freely  paints  the  evils  of  slavery,  it  also 
fairly  shows  the  difficulties  which  surround  the  planter.  Will  make  a  decided  sensa- 
tion."— Sunday  Dispatch. 

"  We  have  resided  among  our  Southern  brethren,  and  can  bear  testimony  to  the  truth 
of  this  humorous  and  eloquent  description  of  Southern  life." — Sunday  Ledger. 

"Far  superior  to 'Uncle  Tom  '  in  real  merit,  while  of  at  least  equal  interest.  The 
author's  religion  is  that  of  the  Bible." — Banner  of  the  Cross. 

"  A  book  for  all  parts  of  the  Union,  written  with  a  strict  eye  to  the  whole  truth.  We 
congratulate  Mr.  Kandolph  not  only  on  the  literary  ability  displayed  in  his  book,  but 
also  on  the  kindliness  of  spirit  he  has  shown  for  all  classes." — Scott's  Weekly. 

"  The  tale  itself  is  of  thrilling  interest.  The  African  character  is  truly  delineated, 
and  the  relation  of  master  and  slave  well  defined,  and  set  forth  in  its  true  light.  It  is 
just  such  a  book  as  the  country  needs." — Lancaster  (Ky.)  Argus. 

"  One  of  the  most  interesting  books  we  have  ever  read.  A  thousand  times  more  truth- 
ful than  '  Uncle  Tom.'  There  will  be  a  universal  rush  for  it." — Atlanta  (Ga.)  Repvhlican. 

"  It  is  the  words  of  fact  and  wisdom  in  the  pleasant  garb  of  fancy." — Tarborough 
(N.  C.)  Southerner. 

"  The  author  has  shown  a  perfect  acquaintance  with  southern  life  and  institutions,  a 
perfect  command  of  sentiment  and  feeling." — Yorhville  (S.  C.)  Remedy. 

"  Will  create  a  sensation  second  only  to  Mrs.  Stowe's  famous  work." — Sunday  3fercury. 

"Written  with  spirit.  The  story  interesting  and  pathetic." — Philadelphia  North 
American. 

"  Abounds  with  scenes,  incidents,  and  sketches  of  the  most  thrilling  character." — 

Pennsylvania  Inquirer. 

"  Is  destined  to  reach  an  immense  circulation.  Abounds  in  scenes  of  thrilling  inter- 
est."— Philadelphia  Cr/mmerciul  List. 

"  We  predict  for  it  an  immense  sale." — NeaVs  Saturday  Gazette. 

"  Written  with  much  power." — Germanlown  Telegraph. 

"  Beitraying  much  ability." — City  Item. 

"  Story  of  ab.'^orbing  interest." — Erenivg  Bulletin. 

"  This  is  just  the  work  for  the  times.  The  incidents  are  so  thrilling  that  the  reader's 
attention  is  fixed  after  the  perusal  of  the  first  sentence." — Marlboro'  (Md.)  gazette. 

"  Written  in  a  fascinating  style.    The  interest  of  the  reader  increases  with  every  new 
chapter.    We  hope  that  Southern  poo})Ie  will  read  this  book ;  we  hope  that  Northern 
will  read  it." — Democratic  (N.  C.)  Pioneer. 
"  Gives  a  true  account  of  slaverv  as  it  exists  in  reality." — North  Carolina  Argus. 
Published  and  for  sale  by  T.  B.  PETERSON, 

No.  98  Clicstniit  Street,  PhiiadelpKln. 


PICTORIAL  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES 


DAVY  CROCKETT. 


Complete  in  one  large  Octavo  volume  of  over  200  pages.    Price  Fifty  Cents. 

Embellished  with  full  page,  spirited  Illustrations,  designed  by  Stephens,  and  engraved  in 
the  liuest  stylo  of  art,  by  Heeler.  It  is  the  only  complde  and  unabridged  edition  of  the  Life  of 
Davy  Crockett,  e^}e.r  published  in  ffie  United  States.  Copies  of  it  will  be  sent  to  any  one  to  any 
place,  free  of  postage,  on  their  remitting  Fifty  Cents  to  the  Publisher  for  a  copy. 

Published  and  for  Sale  by  T.B.PETERSON, 
12  Nos.  97  &>  98  Chesnvit  Street,  Plilladelplila. 


